


Parselbrat

by Ziel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Care of Magical Creatures, Dark Magic, Female Harry Potter, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Herbology, Horcruxes, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Mentor Voldemort, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mundane Utility for Magic, Nature, Nature Magic, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Parseltongue, Snakes, So much guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-22 01:51:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10687323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziel/pseuds/Ziel
Summary: Harry discovers Parseltongue a little earlier. As magic goes, it's not very useful. It's enough to make a few friends though. And isn't that enough?





	1. Chapter 1

“Out! Supper is at 6. Be back in time to set the table. If you aren’t, your portion goes in the bin. Understand?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

Left unsaid was that Aunt Petunia gave her this speech three times a week. But then her aunt shoved her out the back door and sent her stumbling into the yard, and it stopped mattering.

Harry adjusted her smudged glasses and pulled up the set of Dudley’s hand-me-down jeans she was wearing. It was too hot for them, Surrey in July, and the equally inherited sweatshirt she had on, but they were by far the best option.

The alternative was for Aunt Petunia to convert some of Dudley’s old clothes into girly equivalents. Trousers to dresses, and so on. Her relatives had quickly decided that was too much work, and that Harry being seen as a ‘tomboy’ was an acceptable trade-off for not having to buy her clothing.

Four steps took her off the concrete patio and into the grass. Another dozen took her to the fence. She opened the gate and slipped out into the narrow alley that divided the fenced yards from one another. It only ran the length of the adjoining yards, but the fences were all tall enough that she couldn’t see over them. Later in the day, they’d also be tall enough to block out some of the sun, but for now, it was high noon, and her shadow was a tiny pool underfoot.

Harry sidled along, hands half in her pockets, head bowed, trying to keep the sun out of her eyes. It just meant her hair caught it and heated up.

A bead of sweat dropped off her forehead to splat against the inside of her left glasses lens. Harry sighed, pulled them off, and cleaned them. Another drop hit them barely a meter down the alley.

Too bloody hot for this.

She tugged at the neck of her jumper, trying to fan some air through the thick cotton. No such luck. The air coming off the tarmac was so warm it was like standing over a fireplace and trying to catch a breeze.

She needed to get some shade or there’d be nothing left of her but a husk by the time supper came around.

Harry picked up the pace a little. She exited the alley- checking left and right for any of the neighborhood kids who might want to bother her. The street was deserted. They were all inside, enjoying the AC.

Bolstered, if not a little jealous, Harry crossed the road and turned left. Down the street to the corner, then right. The neighborhood fell away for a roundabout, and a little further down, an overpass, but Harry’s eyes were on the playground.

The slide was a solid sheet of metal- literally hot enough to cook on, and she stayed well clear. But the jungle gym that housed the slide, sprouting a swingset from one side, was her destination. There was a little oasis of shadow under the platform, a space just big enough to fit into if she crawled. It was enclosed on three sides, covered over by the stairs and other parts of the gym.

Harry dropped to her hands and knees. She’d hidden here before. It wasn’t a good spot for it. If there were other kids on the playground, they’d inevitably point her out to Dudley and his gang.

Not today though. That was the only real bonus of the heat.

The dark, loamy mulch was thick under her palms, and under the space, the mulch was actually a little damp. She was going to get dirty, but there was nothing wrong with a little moisture on a day like this.

Harry crawled in, circled like a dog, and then stretched out. It took a bit of fidgeting to find a position that made lying in the mulch bearable, and a bit more to adjust her clothing to not suffocate her.

For the first time since she woke that morning, Harry relaxed. She sank back against the nearest wall, wiggling like a worm to get the mulch indented beneath her and-

Something touched the back of her legs.

Harry stilled.

Just a bit of mulch?

She reached down and back, groping for the offending object.

Her fingertips brushed across something dry and scaly.

Initial thoughts of it being some odd piece of litter died beneath a much more basic instinct.

_Snake!_

Harry yelped and rolled away, scrabbling for the exit. She pushed off from the back wall and lunged for the sunny exterior.

_“Ouch!”_ someone said.

Harry squirmed frantically away from the play gym, not stopping until she was two meters away. What if it came after her? Were there any poisonous snakes in Britain? She didn’t really know.

_“Rude,”_ someone said.

Harry squinted. The voice had come from beneath the platform.

“Hello? Someone there?” She paused, suddenly frowning. Something clicked in the back of her head. She knew this game.

It was a trick. There had been a kid underneath there also, probably trying to get out of the heat, and they’d played a joke on her with a rubber snake. Just like last spring when Piers had got her with that fake spider in class.

“That’s not funny!” she called. “Come out!”

_“Kicks me in the head and says_ I’m _not funny. The nerve...”_ the voice said. It was dry, and not just in tone. Like someone hissing under their breath. But… it didn’t sound like a kid. It sounded like a man was under there.

And that was definitely impossible. The space was barely a meter across on all sides. A kid could _maybe_ have hidden there without her noticing. But an adult? An adult lurking under a play gym like some kind of troll? Hadn’t Aunt Petunia always warned Dudley about people like that?

“Come out. I’m not playing around. I’ll- I’ll call the police!”

_“_ _Rude. Rude and loud. Always tramping about on their_ legs _.”_ The voice hissed angrily at that. _“This is my cave. Go away.”_

Another hiss, louder this time, and something stirred in the darkness.

Harry stumbled backward and fell as the snake- for it was definitely a snake, slithered out of the mulch. She’d missed it for good reason. It was pure black, its scales shining in the sunlight.

_“Go away!”_ it said.

Harry stared.

_“Get!”_

It could talk. A talking snake.

“Weird!”

And then it hissed louder than ever at her, baring a set of needle-like fangs, and Harry bolted.

XXX

She came back the next evening.

It was, at the end of the day, the single most interesting thing that had ever happened to her on Privet Drive.

A talking snake.

Harry crouched near the jungle gym. “Hello? You, ah- Mister Snake? Are you there?”

Silence.

“Sorry for stepping on you. I brought food. Is that okay?”

Silence.

Then-

A voice floated out to her. _“What kind of food?”_

XXX

His name was Blackscale.

According to him, his siblings had been born with the typical rippling brown and black pattern that most adders had. He’d been pure black. It wasn’t that rare, but it was enough to earn him his name.

Blackscale enjoyed the hunk of chicken Harry had kept from last night’s dinner. He enjoyed it enough to forget any ill-will over her kicking him, and invited her to join him in the ‘cave.’

Harry declined.

She sat against the side of the play gym frame, legs spread out, drawing patterns in the mulch with a finger.

“So…” she said slowly. “You’re a talking snake.”

_“_ _All snakes talk. Humans just don’t listen. You… you are a speaker.”_

“Meaning?”

_“_ _Human that speaks like snakes.”_

“Ah.”

She rocked back and forth a bit, mulling that over.

“Uh… how do I do that?”

Blackscale gave a low, uneven hiss. Her mind translated it as a snort of laughter, but now that Harry was paying attention, she could hear the separation.

_“_ _Magic.”_

XXX

She took him home with her that night. Around her neck like a boa, his weight and texture both unfamiliar. Blackscale had been unsure of leaving his cool burrow under the playground, but she’d reassured him with stories of how lush and cool the Dursley’s garden was.

They were technically true. She watered it frequently, and the leafy bushes would be cool to lay beneath if she was the size of an adder.

Harry didn’t want to be away from him now.

A snake of all things, had voiced the answer to a question she hadn’t even known she’d had. An explanation for all the weirdness, for why the Dursleys didn’t like her, of the sense that she got sometimes that if she just _pushed_ a little harder _somehow_ , something would happen.

And the issue was definitely her.

With Blackscale’s help, Harry had sought out three other snakes on the way back to the Dursleys, and unless every random snake in Surrey was talking, then she could talk to snakes.

She. Was. _Magic._

It took a long time to fall asleep that night, half-baked in the stuffy cupboard as always, but now with the added thought of magic whirling and sparking through her head like an errant lightning bolt.

Her dreams were just as muddled. Scenes of long, dismal hallways and doors. Boys and girls in ragged clothes. A boy bending, a baby snake twining through his fingers. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia melding and separating, a yelling mass. A green sun.

They were forgotten by the time she woke. She stumbled through breakfast, and was already heading for the door when Aunt Petunia started into her ‘be back for supper’ spiel. Her aunt didn’t even notice that Harry had gone.

Outside, Harry crouched in the bushes at the back of the yard. Blackscale surfaced from beneath one, winding his way through the roots toward her.

_“_ _Speaker.”_

Harry smiled. “I brought some bacon.”

She didn’t think a snake’s eyes could light up, but Blackscale made a good show of it.

It was only after, when he was sleepy, his midsection slightly lumpy with the food, that Harry leaned in.

“What can you tell me about magic?”

He blinked dully at her. His tongue flicked in, then out. And then he shook his head.

_“_ _How would I know?”_

Her jaw dropped. “What?!”

_“_ _Human magic. Not snake.”_

“Oh.” She scratched the back of her head, combing a kink out of her curls before she answered. “You don’t have… snake magic or something?”

Blackscale gave a snort of laughter. _“What use do I have for magic?”_ He snickered again before yawning. _“_ _Doesn’t mean I’m completely ignorant. Keep feeding me, and I’ll tell you everything I know, Speaker.”_

There was a flash of wariness at his words, and Harry’s thoughts went to, of all things, the handful of church sermons she’s been to. The Dursleys did Christmas and Easter service, if they remembered. The Biblical serpent and the apple. And there’s something else there as well, a snake coiling through a boy’s hand, circling and coiling, endlessly.

But there was never anything in those stories about the serpent snatching up rashers of bacon, or lurking in a playground because it was too hot. And… Harry found she doesn’t care either way. Because things were changing. The world her aunt and uncle had laid out was tearing apart at the seams.

Harry smiled. “Deal.”

 XXX

Blackscale kept his word.

He knew more than Harry had imagined a snake could. More importantly, he genuinely seemed to like telling her. She wondered sometimes over the humid weeks that followed if he was lonely too, or if he was just lazy and preferred the easy meals she provided.

He taught her about nature. Magic, he knew nothing about, beyond some humans ( _HER!)_ apparently being able to do some things. Who and what, he neither knew nor cared.

Instead, she got long lectures about which birds were smart, which were dumb, the ones who left their eggs unprotected, and which ones were cutthroat enough to point him toward their neighbors. Speeches about the plants in the forest- there was a wooded area, maybe a few acres square, a mile or so from the Dursleys’ home, and Harry found herself taking a walk there nearly every day she wasn’t occupied with chores.

Blackscale couldn’t name any of the plants or trees, but he could point out which ones held fruit or thorns, where bees tended to nest, which plants the rodents he preyed on would eat.

Harry took in his facts, digested them, and then asked questions. That in itself had taken a while. Too many years of getting whopped by Dudley in primary for being ‘a dirty swot’ had made her wary of probing too much. But Blackscale reveled in them. Asking questions stroked his ego, gave him something to ramble about ever more.

And from her questions, Harry learned. She extrapolated which plants were safe for her to eat, which were poisonous. How to search for mushrooms in the dark and damp, but not to even think of eating until she had a chance to look at them in the light. Insects that would bite, and the plants that kept them away. Vines that split open to spurt foul-smelling innards. Bark and leaves that could soothe a wound.

It was not magic, but there was a _magic_ to it.

The forest quickly became not just a day trip, but a refuge as well. There were no pointed fingers and raised voices there. No accusations and unhappy eyes. It was cool and quiet and _safe_. For the first time, Harry found something that was hers. Her place. Her woods. Somewhere where she could be as loud as she wanted, or run around like an idiot, or gorge on wild strawberries and morels until she could hardly move without bursting.

There was time for magic as well.

Harry couldn’t really do anything. Not at first. She drew off raw instinct, groping for a feeling, an idea of how to work magic. Started small. Little things. Staring at a leaf, trying to move it without touching it. To stir the water in a puddle. Speak to other animals of the wood.

It took weeks. Furious hours of staring and wanting, _needing_ something to happen to prove her right. In the end, it was Blackscale’s reassurances that _‘_ _A speaker is of magic.’_ that gave her the push to keep going.

It was not just wanting or needing magic to happen, but _knowing_ she could do magic, and that it _should_ happen. She’d been winding herself up on a nice, throbbing headache, staring at a twig, willing it to break, not because it could, but because it should, and she wanted it to, and- something of her frustration leaked out, and she remembered the times before that something strange had happened.

Desperate, terrifying times. Dudley’s gang. Aunt Petunia with the kitchen scissors. Uncle Vernon’s bellowing anger.

“Come. On.” Hissed between gritted teeth.

Something clenched behind her ribs. Twisted. And then unfolded. Heat and joy filled her limbs, twining around her bones, lifted her chin. Opened her eyes.

Harry gasped, as a dam broke and something _burst_ -

The twig exploded like a firecracker.

XXX

Her thoughts slowly filled with trees and greenery, until the Dursley’s home, with all its artificial wood and fluorescent lights, felt more alien than ever before. Every morning, she would wake from dreams of snakes and a gray, industrial London, Blackscale curled in a knot against her side, and it would begin anew.

And it was in the woods one morning, that things set into motion. Harry crouched behind a log with Blackscale, watching for prey, letting the snake show her how they hunted.

A shadow passed overhead, and she looked up.

Blackscale hissed angrily, sliding under the log. _“Hide from hunting-birds, Speaker!”_

There was a rustle of feathers, and then a bird alighted on the log.

An owl. Black and brown, yellow eyes meeting her green.

It held its leg out to her.

Harry reached out numbly, dumbly, and took the letter it offered her.

Thick, brown paper, and a crest with animals around an ornate letter ‘H.’

She opened it. The owl took flight.

Harry waited until Blackscale emerged from beneath the log before she read the letter.

_‘_ _Dear M_ _s._ _Potter,_

_We_ _are pleased to inform you...’_

 

XXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concept was an amalgam of a couple different things. I wanted a Parseltongue study. I wanted a fic about Nagini. I wanted something that wasn't the godawful parselmagic bullshit that pervades the worst part of Harry Potter fandom.
> 
> Enter Parselbrat. A fic where it turns out that the ability to control snakes is honestly kind of lame. Because snakes are basically legless cats, and there's no plausible reason for them to know shit about magic. So it ended up being less about Parseltongue, than about the doors it opens. No super OP powers. Just an early reveal of magic, and a friend who happens to be scaly.
> 
> Because seriously Wizarding Britain- controlling snakes is like literally the least terrifying thing that Voldemort can do.
> 
> Expect 2 more chapters, max.
> 
> Oh, and a rec for Charred Paws and Heavy Coils, by UndeadArtist, which inspired some of the mood here, and features a lot of fluffy Harry Nagini stuff.


	2. 2

She slept poorly that night. Questions she couldn’t answer churned and buzzed behind her eyes like so many bees.

A school, but where? Platform 9 ¾? That was… nonsense. And how was she supposed to buy her school supplies? Some of it she could improvise, given time, but a cauldron, dragonhide gloves? It wasn’t as though there was a magic-mart just down the block beside the Tesco.

Harry had drifted off, dozed, woken, dozed off again, and was just starting the cycle once more when Aunt Petunia rapped a knuckle on the cupboard door.

“Get up and set the table. Hurry up before your uncle comes down!”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry murmured, rubbing her eyes.

The latch clicked, and Harry took a moment to pull on her clothes before nudging the cupboard door open. Morning was always blinding after nights spent under the stairs. She winced, rubbed her eyes some more, and then leaned back into the cupboard.

“I’ll bring you something. What do you want?”

Blackscale opened a yellow eye. _“Just water. Too much food makes me sluggish.”_

“Okay.”

She was just turning to close the cupboard when there was a booming knock at the front door. Harry went wide-eyed at the dust now sifting down from the stairs, and then looked at the door.

“Get the door!” her aunt yelled shrilly from the kitchen.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry called back.

She scurried to the front door and glanced through the frosted windows on each side before she undid the lock. Whoever was outside was big enough to cast both windows into shadow.

Harry shrugged.

As long as it wasn’t Aunt Marge, she didn’t really care.

She opened the door.

A man- a _giant_ man filled the space outside. Dark eyes beamed down at her from a beard thick enough to hide her in its entirety.

“Hullo, Harry,” the giant said.

XXX

Harry was coming to reconsider her feelings on London. She’d only visited the city a few times, but this round she was finding especially overwhelming. Part of that was the revelations that Hagrid had brought about a secret society of witches and wizards, and part of it was the noise, the bustle, and the people.

Any hope that the wizards would be better was quashed as soon as she stepped foot in the Leaky Cauldron. People wanted to meet _her_. To shake her hand. A man actually wept with joy when she shook his.

She’d had fantasies of being important, being famous. Hard not to when she was about as popular with the Dursleys as dry rot. But to actually be famous. To have people know her. To turn their heads when she walked by.

It made her skin crawl.

The steady thrum of the crowd in Diagon Alley was a relief after the pub. She vanished into the crowd, becoming just another shopper. Not Famous Harry Potter.

What she was famous for, she hadn’t quite figured out yet, even if everyone else seemed to know. Hagrid had tried to explain it, something about a dark wizard and her apparently vanquishing him? But how was a one-year old supposed to do that? If she had that kind of power, then how come Dudley had always been able to knock her silly?

Hagrid was a steady presence, tugging her along, her hand wrapped around one of his huge fingers. He parted the crowd with his size, and that alone made the street less cloying. But there was also his smell, like woodsmoke and leather and earth, and the way he had leaves caught in his beard like some kind of ancient tree spirit. It was like walking with part of the forest.

XXX

They shopped.

Gringotts. A ride through the tunnels and caves that she enjoyed, even if Hagrid didn’t. And then-

 _Money_.

She was still dazed with the image of that gold-stacked vault by the time they made it back to the surface. Hagrid, still somewhat queasy as well, sent her towards Madame Malkin’s so he could have a break.

Robes were… kind of itchy. And a bit too hot for the summer sun. But no one else seemed troubled. Was there a magic for that as well? She wouldn’t mind learning that one first.

A blond-haired boy joined her during the fitting.

He gave her a once-over, taking in her scrawny, tanned limbs and over-large sneakers. The set of Dudley’s jeans she’d cut off into capris. The snarl of black hair that she’d given up trying to tame and finally just twisted back with twigs like hairpins.

His lip curled, and he turned away.

Harry wasn’t sorry to leave the shop.

Hagrid was waiting outside with ice cream. She’d forgotten the sneering boy by the time she’d taken her first bite.

“Where next?” Hagrid rumbled, his ice cream scaled up to match his size, nearly the size of a traffic cone.

“Books?”

“Alright ‘en.”

They parted the crowed once more.

Something he’d said earlier came back to her. Harry tugged at Hagrid’s index finger.

“Hagrid- did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?”

His face lit up. “Aye. Never seen em myself, but yer can ‘ear em sometimes. Always wanted a dragon...”

“So… Dragons are real?”

“Course they are.”

She grinned up at him. Did dragons count as snakes? She hoped so. “Can you tell me about them?”

The duo that entered Flourish and Blotts was a tower. Nearly fifteen feet high, a slip of a girl riding on a giant’s shoulders, her shoes dangling from skinny legs as she balanced an ice cream.

Hagrid had tired of talking down to her and pulled her up to his level so she could hear him better.

And he knew a _lot_ about dragons.

Flourish and Blotts was familiar in an odd way, in that it reminded her exactly how little she knew about everything. Not just about magic in all its facets, but the things she thought she was just getting a handle on- nature, plants, animals, apparently all had magical variants.

Harry snatched up every book on “Herbology” and “Magizoology” she could, enlisting Hagrid to help carry, and then for advice. She hadn’t given much thought to what a groundskeeper was, but Hagrid seemed to know as much about magical flora and fauna as he did about dragons.

She left the store with enough books that the bookseller had thrown in a complimentary ‘Flourish and Blotts Extended Expanda-bag’ to carry all of them.

“Les get yer wand now, I think,” Hagrid said, checking her list.

XXX

Holly and phoenix feather.

_After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible! Yes. But great.”_

XXX

She departed Ollivander’s much quieter than she’d entered it.

Hagrid, seeming to sense her discomfort, slowed and patted her on the head. “Don’ pay him any mind. He’s a weird ole bloke. Been there forever, I think.”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. That Hagrid honestly seemed to care she was upset made her feel a bit better.

“Cmon, pet shop’s up ‘ere. Might be nice if you get an owl. You and yer friends can write to each other.”

She smiled at that, but her first thought was a long-time mantra: _I don’t have any friends._

Another voice spoke up, softer than the first. _‘I’ve got Blackscale.’_ Harry looked up at the massive man escorting her through Diagon. Her smile became truer. _‘And Hagrid.’_

And that shut the nagging little voice up right sharp.

XXX

As it turned out, she couldn’t speak to lizards, frogs, toads, or salamanders. Not even slowworms, legless lizards that were for all intents and purposes, snakes. Apparently her speech only worked on 100% snakes.

It worked well enough on the massive Brazilian Mirror Viper in the far corner. His tank was marked with “HIGHLY POISONOUS! COLLECTORS ONLY!”, but that didn’t stop Harry from having a quick talk with him about his life in the petshop.

The store clerks wouldn’t sell him to her though, and she didn’t have enough money on hand anyway.

Hagrid, distracted by owls and owl accessories, hadn’t noticed her conversation with the viper, but he did catch on once the clerk started yelling at him to fetch Harry away from the “incredibly deadly serpent.”

He’d been put-off by her interest, she could tell, and Harry allowed him to lead her away.

It didn’t rekindle her interest in an owl, and she was forced to admit to Hagrid that she wouldn’t have anyone to write to anyway, and that he should save the money.

The tall man looked at her for a long, heavy moment, his thick brows knitted.

“Next year, ‘Arry. Next year, yer’ll need an owl. Promise yer that. I’ll get yer one then.”

He took her hand and led her out of the emporium. Harry waved goodbye to the Mirror Viper as she went.

XXX

“So… yer like the Mirror Viper? Those’re something. I know yer’d take good care of ‘im, but McGonagall’d have my head if I let yer bring that into the school.” He smiled ruefully at her. “Tell yer what. I’ve got loads of beasts at school that plenty of people’re too scared of to ‘preciate. Yer can come see ‘em any time.”

Harry found herself matching his smile. “His name was Rain-slick-slither-skin. He had a weird accent, but he was nice.”

Hagrid stopped so suddenly that the crowd had to part around them like a river around a rock.

XXX

Hagrid tried his best to explain what she’d done wrong, and that he wasn’t mad, but Harry still ended their trip sure that she’d messed up somehow.

So apparently certain people had magic, but certain people who had magic also had magic that other wizards didn’t.

Hagrid led the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry still holding his hand, but trailing a few steps behind now, her eyes down.

Parselmouth. Parseltongue.

There was something ugly and jarring about the terms that she didn’t like. Being a Speaker meant having a title. A role. Something that snakes understood and respected.

Being a Parselmouth was just another one of those things she didn’t understand. That no one had ever bothered to explain, but that everyone but her seemed to know. It was too much like being with the Dursleys or at primary school. All these rules and unspoken understoods. Like playing a game where everyone else already knew the rules.

Warm sunlight gave way to brick and cobble, and then the smoky darkness of the pub.

“I’ll floo yer back,” Hagrid said. “Don’ wanna mess round with apparatin.’ Too much strain on yer.”

She nodded slowly. What floo was, she wasn’t sure. Apparation was teleporting. They’d done that to get to Diagon in the first place, but it had made her horribly nauseous for several minutes, and Hagrid had apologized profusely.

“I think that’ll be fine,” she said.

They crossed in front of the bar, Hagrid towing her toward a back hallway, when-

“My g-goodness, H-harriet Potter?”

A man sitting at the bar had turned to stare at them.

Harry tugged Hagrid’s hand, mentally urging him onward. She didn’t want to meet-and-greet anyone else today. But Hagrid had stopped.

“Professor Quirrel. Didn’ think I’d see yer round here.”

The man, Quirrel, young and pale, built like a scarecrow, stood from his stool. “J-just having a drink b-before term s-starts,” he said tremulously.

He wore an odd, purple turban, incongruous beside his European features and his wizard robes. But… it wasn’t like Harry hadn’t seen a dozen weirder looking people in the alley alone.

“I-is this r-really Harriet Potter?” Quirrel asked.

“’Arry and I were just finishing school shopping.” Hagrid patted her shoulder, nudging her forward. “’Arry, this is Professor Quirrel. He’ll be teaching Muggle- er, ‘scuse me, Quirrel. He’ll be teaching Defense agains’ the Dark Arts this year at Hogwarts.”

“I’m l-looking forward to t-teaching you, Miss Potter.” Quirrel held out a hand.

Dutifully, Harry reached out.

He had very long fingers. Thin. Like a spider.

Their hands touched.

Something in her magic shifted. A _lurch_ behind her ribs, on her forehead, at the base of her spine, something _s_ _tirring_ , and-

Harry drew back, gasping, her hand halfway to her forehead by the time she realized the feeling was gone.

“’Arry?” Hagrid rumbled. “Yer okay?”

She blinked.

Quirrel was pressed against the bar, his eyes wide, hand still outstretched.

“It- it was nothing,” Harry muttered. “Just a bit of magic.”

“It’s been a long day,” Hagrid added, as though that explained things. And then he was drawing her away again, maybe a little more quickly than before.

Behind her, the tall man moved, his robes rustling like snakeskin.

“I’m looking forward to teaching you, Harry Potter.”

XXX

Hagrid flooed her home via Mrs. Figgs’ fireplace. That, in itself, was a revelation. But it was a discovery for another day. Harry just nodded tiredly at her neighbor, hefted her things, and headed for Privet Drive.

She entered just long enough to stow her things in Dudley’s spare- her new room, and then she was off, Blackscale around her neck, headed back to the forest.

There was quiet there, and time to think.

 

XXX

 

In retrospect, this is a fairly standard Diagon Alley sequence. I'd like to have changed things up a bit more, but I think the tone is sufficiently different enough that it's bearable. The most salient points are probably how Harry reacts to what's going on around her, and how quickly dreams of importance and fame sour. I'm pleased with that much.  
  
Oh, and Quirrel's there too.


	3. 3

3

There were almost three weeks between her visit to Diagon Alley and the start of term. She’d been ditching the Dursleys for the forest nearly every day already, and it swiftly became daily.

There was a nauseous tension in the house now. Dudley skittering from the room like a cockroach when she entered. Aunt Petunia chewing her lip, biting back words that she no longer dared to say. Uncle Vernon, impotent and red-faced, itching to shout or lay hand on her, held back only by his wife’s hissed warnings.

Harry woke, made breakfast, did the few chores they still pushed her way, and then set off into the neighborhood. Most days she went to the woods, but she’d been exploring a bit more, venturing in other directions to look for other woody areas.

There was an entire world outside of Privet Drive, and she was itching to see it.

XXX

Dry leaves crackled beneath her. She was spread-eagle on the forest floor, hair fanned out, skin patterned with canopy shade. It was quiet in the center of the woods, the noise of the motorway a dull, distant thing, easily ignored.

“Where was I?”

_“_ _The ogres,”_ Blackscale said, draped across her belly like a belt.

“And then- ah, the prince got carried off by the three ogres, and the brave lady knight had to set out to save him. She-”

A little grass snake coiled in the hollow of her collarbone shifted. _“Are there any snakes in this story?”_

_“Speaker, may I sun myself with you as well?”_ A black snake took advantage of the interruption to poke his nose into her cheek.

“Ah- alright then,” Harry said. She paused, squinting for a moment to remember where she’d been. “The lady knight saddled her horse and coiled her trusty snake companion around her shoulders.” Another pause for the serpents to hiss their approval, and then she continued.

“They journeyed long and hard, passing into the far north, where...”

She lay in the shade, her limbs heavy beneath a score of scaled bodies, and spoke until her jaw ached. One by one, all the snakes in the wood came to hear her. They settled on and around her, drowsing in her body heat and the sound of her voice. When she finished one story, they’d call out suggestions- most were snake related, but there were a few that weren’t.

They wanted to hear her, to be in her presence. They stared, but there was a different weight to it, not the furious eyes of her relatives, and none of them skittered away when she came.

It was almost like having friends.

XXX

_‘_ _Add two drops of armadillo bile, stir counter-clockwise once, and then add one dash of ground snake fangs.’_

Harry frowned. “How do you suppose they gather those?”

Blackscale, currently swollen and indolent, digesting a mouse, just twitched his tail in response.

“Snake fangs, I mean. You- you don’t think they harm the snakes, do you?” She rifled the pages of her potions text to the very back, scanning the glossary for anything else in that vein.

“Crushed claw of cat, bat wings, beetle eyes… This is horrible. I guess they could use magic, but _still_.”

She spent the rest of the day marking out recipes that used animal components, and the next cross-checking her potion ingredients guide for things that could be possible substitutes. It didn’t really go well. She didn’t understand half the potion terms, and it kept throwing in mentions of ‘symbolic value’ and ‘ritual weight’ that she didn’t grok at all, beyond that they were likely what she was looking for, if only she understood.

It wasn’t like she was going to become one of those ‘animal-loving tree-huggers’ that Uncle Vernon occasionally ranted about, but it was hard to think of hurting an animal when she could talk to them. If there were parselmouths, then surely there had to be wizards who could talk to dogs or bats or whatever. She wouldn’t be okay if one of the ingredients was ‘tongue of Harry,’ so why would a serpent be any different?

XXX

Her scar itched.

It had never done that before that she could remember, but it was now. When had that started? When she first used magic, maybe? Or was it when she met the professor in the Leaky Cauldron?

It itched, and that night she dreamed.

XXX

It itched, and in her dream, she reached up. Fingertips brushed inflamed skin. There was a flash of pain and she drew away, only for the skin to come away with her hand, scraps of papery flesh sticking to her fingers like it had been glued there.

The open _space_ on her forehead tingled, cool air against raw skin.

Her hands moved up again. They were long and thin, someone else’s, and not under her control anymore.

Pulled.

Skin peeled away. A long strip down her arm.

And there wasn’t flesh underneath it, but scales. Glistening black, and new.

She wasn’t a witch at all, but a vast serpent wearing a human skin. The Dursleys had always known something was off, because there _was_ , and if everyone said something about her, then mustn’t it be true? It-

_“_ _Freak.”_

_“An odd boy.”_

-dug at something deep within her. A secret thought that maybe she was a freak after all. And-

_“_ _Get up, Tom.”_

_“_ _Go to your room. No one wants you here._

_“Get up, you lazy little bastard! Get-”_

“-up!”

A hand against her door and Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice.

Harry woke. Blackscale brushed by her wrist and she jumped, a tiny yip escaping her throat before reality reasserted itself.

She blinked once, slowly, shook her head, and got out of bed.

Her scar itched.

XXX

August 31st ended in soft twilight.

Harry leaned against a fallen log at the edge of a small clearing she frequented. Her textbooks were scattered around her, most propped open on rocks. It was too dark to read them now, but the wind would occasionally rustle their pages, and the sound was soothing.

Blackscale, more susceptible to the chilly evening than she, had burrowed under her shirt and coiled up there, smooth scales against her skin. She didn’t think he was asleep, but he was still, and she had stopped trying to bother him with conversation when it began getting dark.

The sky turned blue, purple, and then black. There were no stars in Privet Drive. There was too much ambient light from the houses and street lights.

Harry sighed, slumping down against the log a bit more. That was the problem with Privet Drive though, wasn’t it?

Too much _everything_ , and not enough room for anything else. No room for things that didn’t fit, or people like her. It was like the Dursleys and other, Dursley-ish people had built it for that purpose. Privet Drive was a snakeskin. Something they had layered over the earth so that they could forget it was there. A perfect little world, where there was nothing bad or frightening or disorderly.

Even if the forest was nice, it was still just another part of Surrey. Just a small grove, poking up through the cracks in an artificial landscape. It was a refuge, but it was no real home for her.

She didn’t belong here. And tomorrow, she’d be leaving.

There was a whole wide world out there beyond the tiny box that was Privet Drive.

Slowly, she raised her palm to the sky.

Her magic, more familiar now, though still strange, stirred inside her. She’d been practicing, and though she couldn’t manage any of the fancier spells in her books that seemed designed for wands, she could do this.

A tiny light, no bigger than a firefly blinked into existence above her. And then another. And another. A dozen. Two score. Countless minuscule points of light bloomed in the canopy.

Harry gritted her teeth, willing a change, and then-

They began to shift. Colors appeared. Lights flashing from hue to hue, all moving in gentle patterns like a school of fish, color rippling down the mass in waves.

She released her hold on it, and the lights lingered, still drifting hypnotically around the top of the clearing.

Harry lay back against the log, eyes reflecting her replacement stars.

The night was quiet, seeming to hold its breath for her. And there, alone in the trees but for a snake, Harry Potter felt like a witch for the first time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly episodic chapter, but nice for the transitionary stuff of a Harry who actually cracks a book before day 1, and some more stuff just being a kid exploring her new powers. This was originally a shorter sequence that was the first part of a chapter covering Kings Cross, the Train, Sorting, and Hogwarts, but the Privet Drive bits are wildly different in tone and focus, so I decided to just put it out as a short chapter. Ended up adding the dream bit and reworking the star sequence, but I'm pleased with how it turned out.
> 
> Some nice introspective moments, even if I would like to get things moving, it's nice to take things slow once in a while. There'll be plenty next time, and the next chapter is 90% done.


	4. 4

    September 1st.  
  
Blackscale had woken her before dawn, announcing that he needed to shed. Even now, he was curled in the bottom of her backpack, shifting rhythmically as he worked his old skin off. His movements pressed against the small of her back, and Harry moved faster with each one, dragging her trunk through Kings Cross, her nerves about school blending with her need to get to the train so she could see to him.  
  
Hagrid had told her- it, where was it? Platform Eight. Nine. And, there was Ten, so it had to be… there. A wall you could walk through. Nothing to it. Just had to get up the nerve. And hope that he hadn’t been having her on.  
  
She was still trying to screw up her courage- there were a couple of walls between the platforms and she wasn’t sure which one, when an entire family of red-heads passed her.  
  
They vanished into a wall to the left of the one she was eyeing.  
  
“Well then.”  
  
Any thoughts about it being a bloody stupid way to catch a train disappeared the instant she saw the Hogwarts Express, a scarlet steam engine surrounded by hundreds of witches and wizards.  
  
There were men and women in red robes the same shade as the train scattered about the platform, directing travelers. After a moment to reason that it was easier to ask rather than get yelled at for not asking, Harry approached one.  
  
The man had just smiled. “First year, is it?” And then he’d flicked his wand and levitated her trunk onto the train without a backwards glance.  
  
They picked a compartment at random – there were two other students already there. Both boys, one her age, the other a little older.  
  
XXX  
  
This wasn’t going to work.  
  
The boys, after introducing themselves, had asked for her name.  
  
Harry gave it.  
  
And they hadn’t stopped gawking at her.  
  
Blackscale was shifting unhappily in her bag, hissing at her to let him out so he could finish molting.  
  
“So, do you really have a scar?” one of the boys asked.  
  
“Yeah, yeah! My da said You-Know-Who finally died that day, and-”  
  
She tuned them out.  
  
Stood up.  
  
“I’m going for a walk.”  
  
XXX  
  
Trunk bumping along behind her, Harry made her way down the train. She was just crossing into the next car when the train lurched and began moving.  
  
She needed an empty compartment. Somewhere without staring eyes and thoughtless questions. Blackscale needed quiet, and so did she.  
  
XXX  
  
Full. Full. Full. Empty- wait- the girl had just been rummaging under her seat. She came out with a large calico. Harry grimaced at the sight and clutched her bag a little tighter.  
  
Full. Full.  
  
Occupied.  
  
Next car.  
  
She stopped.  
  
It wasn’t a passenger car, this one. Now that she paid attention, she thought it might actually be the last car on the train altogether. A baggage car, full to the brim with trunks and luggage of all varieties.  
  
It was also completely and totally uninhabited.  
  
XXX  
  
There was some kind of magic on the trunks. Despite being stacked to the ceiling, none seemed to be under any real pressure- there was a glass aquarium holding up a stack near the door without a single crack. And none of the stacks had so much as tilted, even though the train was bumping and rattling along.  
  
It smelled musty, all dust and old wood, but it was quiet and dark.  
  
Harry burrowed down between two of the stacks, hidden by a third from the main aisle, and opened her bag.  
  
Blackscale was out in a heartbeat, half his body milky-white where the scales were peeling away.  
  
“Nearly there,” he said softly, voice strained with the effort of shedding.  
  
“Anything I can do?”  
  
“Tug where I tell you.”  
  
XXX  
  
“Guess that answers my question about where snake fangs come from,” Harry mused.  
  
She was curled up in her trunk fort, back facing out, shielding her friend. Blackscale was sprawled and silent inside the circle of her body.  
  
It reminded her a little of being back in the cupboard, though there’d never been this much light in there, and there were no doors to hold her in here.  
  
Her fingertips found his husk, dry as old leaves, and as fragile. She lifted it like spun glass, and set inside her trunk, cushioned by a set of robes.  
  
His new scales were a fresh, inky black, totally untarnished by wear or damage.  
  
He was beautiful.  
  
“I wish I could do that,” she said softly. They were idle words, and it was only as she said them that she realized they were true.  
  
To just… shed it all away. No more scrawny little Harriet who slept in a cupboard. No more scraped knees from running from Dudley, or split knuckles from working in the garden.  
  
No more bloody scar.  
  
Shed everything Harriet Potter and just be herself. With none of the baggage that Harry Potter carried. No lousy relatives, and no dead parents. Because those… those were infinitely worse than just being an unwanted orphan. To know that she’d had parents, and they’d been murdered.  
  
That would be a girl who could sit anywhere on the train and not be gaped at like a zoo animal. No one would crow at how famous she was for having dead parents. She could have friends, and not have to worry that she’d simply replaced one husk- her cousin’s hand-me-downs, for another, the skin of Harriet Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived.  
  
She stewed over it a long time, the thoughts circling and winding in her head, biting their tail and repeating. She had no answers by the time the gentle rocking of the train lulled her to sleep.  
  
XXX  
  
The sound of the door opening woke her. There was a rush of wind and noise, and then it closed once more. Heeled footsteps tapped against the wood.  
  
Harry froze where she lay.  
  
The boys had come to steal her things again. The matron would always pretend she didn’t know anything, but she smirked behind her fingers, that cow, but-  
  
Harry blinked, then shook her head. The last dregs of the dream she’d been having drifted away.  
  
The footsteps crossed the car, overlaid by an odd, rolling sound, like someone was moving a trunk on casters.  
  
The steps stopped.  
  
“Come on out, dearie,” a woman called.  
  
Harry stayed still. She was concealed behind trunks. How had the woman noticed her?  
  
“I’ve walked this train long enough to know when someone’s in need of a bite. Come on out and have something off the trolley. I’ve got Cauldron cakes, Bertie Bott’s Beans, licorice wands… something for everyone.”  
  
Slowly, Harry turned over, moving so as not to make any noise. Beneath her, Blackscale caught her eye.  
  
He nodded, and slithered away between the stacks, vanishing to lie in wait.  
  
Harry crept over a few inches until she could peer through a gap in the towering trunks.  
  
A plump witch in an apron and mobcap beamed back at her, immediately on the other side of the stack.  
  
“Hullo there,” the woman said.  
  
Harry squeaked.  
  
XXX  
  
Once they got past the initial fright, it turned out that the woman – “Agatha Sweetley, though you can call me Aggie if you feel like it,” did in fact have candy, and was not like all the other adults with candy her relatives had always forewarned Dudley about.  
  
Cauldron Cakes were delicious, if Harry did say so herself.  
  
XXX  
  
“So,” Agatha said, sitting down on a trunk. “What’s got you all holed up in here? You- you have a name, by the way? Troublesome, just calling you ‘you’ all the while.””  
  
Harry chewed thoughtfully, using the time it took to finish her chocolate frog to find the words she needed.  
  
An image flashed through her head: Agatha’s face lighting up, her eyes going wide and flicking up to Harry’s brow, just like everyone else’s had.  
  
Another scene followed that one: the crowd in the Leaky Cauldron. Grown men and women queuing up to meet her and shake her hand, all saying her name with the kind of reverence usually reserved for the queen.  
  
She imagined those things.  
  
And then she lied.  
  
“Riddle. My name is ah- Harriet Riddle.”  
  
XXX  
  
The conversation that followed was a reprieve.  
  
Harry gave a vague excuse about being in the car to look for her pet- Blackscale was sniffing around an empty owl cage, but Agatha didn’t know that.  
  
The older witch bought it. The awkward mood broke, and Harry found herself having a long, in-depth conversation with Agatha about wizarding candy. Her own experiences with muggle candy were rather limited, but the wizard equivalents sounded downright fascinating.  
  
That someone would put all this effort into making magical candy. Was there magic food as well?  
  
The floodgates opened, and Harry found herself for the first time, really beginning to imagine all the possibilities. There may well be a magical version of anything she could think of. They didn’t have cars, but- but were there magical socks, and she’d seen magical snakes, and-  
  
It. Was. Amazing.  
  
And all of it was underscored with the simple pleasure of just being a face in the crowd. No gawking, no gaping, and no bowing and scraping. It was the first conversation she’d had with a person since she talked to Hagrid, and that had been weeks ago.  
  
By the time she said her goodbyes to Aggie, Harry had come to a conclusion:  
  
She wasn’t going to be Harry Potter any longer.  
  
XXX  
  
Blackscale rejoined her, and Harry crawled back into their burrow.  
  
“Did the food witch have anything for me?” Blackscale asked.  
  
Harry eyed her handful of unicorn lollis. “I don’t think so.”  
  
“I’m going to hunt then,” he said. “Shedding is always tiring.”  
  
“Alright. Call me if you need anything. And be careful- we’re on a train. I don’t want you falling off.”  
  
“I won’t go far.” His tongue flicked out. “There is prey in here with us.”  
  
Harry let him slide off into the stacks again before she dug out some of her books. No telling how long the train ride was, and this book on how the stars and moon affected plants was really interesting.  
  
She flicked to the chapter she’d dog-eared, and had just begun reading when a word bubbled up to her.  
  
Riddle.  
  
Why that surname? It sounded familiar, like she’d read it somewhere and just forgotten.  
  
It kind of fit though. Riddle. Sort of a nod that her name was a mystery.  
  
“Harriet Riddle,” she whispered.  
  
It had a good sound to it. Maybe… once Blackscale returned, she could go back into the passenger cars and see if she had more luck making friends with her new name.  
  
She was smiling as she turned the page.  
  
XXX  
  
“I have hunted well. Do you want any?”  
  
Harry examined the prey Blackscale had dragged back. It was a fat toad, warty sides heaving and eyes bulging as the adder’s venom finished it off.  
  
“Sorry,” she said to the toad. And to Blackscale: “It’s all yours.”  
  
“I will wait until it dies. When the poison on its skin dries, then I shall feed.”  
  
She forced herself to watch as the toad twitched, croaked feebly, and then went still.  
  
Snakes had to eat. Circle of life and all that. She wouldn’t shame the toad’s sacrifice by looking away and pretending it wasn’t dead.  
  
Didn’t mean she didn’t cry a little bit.  
  
XXX  
  
It was nearly an hour after that when the train door opened once again.  
  
Harry perked up, wondering if Aggie had come back. She scooted to the side of their hideaway, stepping carefully over Blackscale, who was slowly swallowing the toad whole.  
  
Two sets of footsteps entered this time.  
  
“I don’t think he could have gotten in here,” a girl said.  
  
“He’s- Trevor is slippery. He always gets into places,” a boy answered. He sounded worried. “I don’t want him to fall off the train.”  
  
Harry stiffened. She’d been afraid of Blackscale falling, could it have happened to someone else’s pet?  
  
“Trevor, oh Trevor,” the boy called, slowly walking down the train. “Come out, Trevor.”  
  
After a moment, the girl copied him. She seemed to be moving more slowly; Harry caught a glimpse of her through the stacks, the girl bending to peer behind a crate.  
  
It didn’t take long to come to a decision.  
  
Harry slipped out from her spot. “Excuse me?”  
  
The boy and girl turned.  
  
“Are you looking for someone?”  
  
The boy, round-faced, his hair mussed like he’d been running his fingers through it, dashed over to her. “We are! I’ve lost my toad, Trevor.”  
  
XXX  
  
Uncle Vernon had never struck her, never more than a slap at least, but she’d often imagined the way his meaty fists might feel. The impact in her gut in that second was comparable.  
  
Harry gasped.  
  
A cold, prickling feeling crawled up her spine and down her throat, tongue frozen and stupid in her mouth.  
  
The boy and girl were still talking to her, the girl moreso, all hands and gestures.  
  
Harry nodded, seeming in slow-motion.  
  
Blackscale was near, a meter at most, divided only by a mound of baggage. He was gorged, his throat packed with toad.  
  
Something in her brain clicked, analyzing the situation with a sterile, detached eye.  
  
There were two options.  
  
She could tell the boy- Neville, the girl had just called him, could tell him the truth.  
  
That path opened up before her, clear as day. He would be angry. Horrified. Wizards didn’t like parseltongue, Hagrid had said. It wouldn’t matter if she was Harriet Riddle here; that name would be tainted just as badly as Potter, if in a different way. Harriet Riddle, snake-girl. Weirdo. Primary school all over again. Shunned. Everything ruined before she even made it to school, because children never forgot this kind of thing.  
  
The other path.  
  
Lie.  
  
Was that any different than lying about her name? Something untrue now that she could tell the truth about in the future. Time for Neville to get over his toad, and for Harry to find him a new one. To make amends. And in the mean time, she’d have to live with the guilt, carry it with her like another scar. Complicity. A hidden murder.  
  
XXX  
  
  
“I haven’t seen him.”  
  
  
XXX  
  
Hermione and Neville said their goodbyes.  
  
“You’re sure you wouldn’t like to come?” Hermione asked. “There’s all sorts of interesting things on this train. I can’t imagine the baggage car is much fun.”  
  
“I’m sure,” Harry said. She smiled stiffly.  
  
The idea of searching alongside them, of perpetuating this lie… it made her sick.  
  
Her stomach roiled.  
  
The duo turned and exited the car, beginning their search back up the Express.  
  
Harry lasted just until the door shut behind them. She spun around and ran for the far side of the car. Bursting through the door onto the tiny platform at the back of the car, iron railing fencing it in.  
  
She hit the railing and heaved. Chunks of wizarding candy splattered the train tracks. Her eyes watered, bile and food clogging her sinuses, and she heaved again, convulsively now.  
  
And again.  
  
Again.  
  
She retched, and drew nothing but a clenching pain in her ribs and a thin trickle of water.  
  
Sagging backward, her back hitting the door. The urge to vomit left her, replaced with an angry emptiness.  
  
The guilt hadn’t diminished at all.  
  
XXX  
  
Arrival.  
  
Itchy and uncomfortable in her new robes, Blackscale a leaden weight around her neck. She wasn’t angry at him. He was just being a snake.  
  
She was the one who should have known better. The letter had said so, hadn’t it? She’d read it enough to know it by heart. ‘Cats, rats, and toads.’ Why else would there be a random toad on a train?  
  
“Firs’ years over here! Firs’ years, with me!”  
  
Harry craned her neck to smile up at him. “Hey, Hagrid. Can I talk to you about something? Later, I mean?”  
  
“Course yer can.”  
  
The dustbin-lid sized hand not holding a lantern came down to pat her head.  
  
XXX  
  
A fleet of little boats streaming across the lake, waves spreading out behind them. And above, a castle big enough to fill the sky, ten-thousand lights warm and waiting.  
  
As one, the first-years fell silent.  
  
XXX  
  
Professor McGonagall was a far cry from Hagrid. Stern and aged, an old oak to his mossy redwood. She paced up the line of new students, voice raised for all to hear.  
  
“You will be called up by name. Go to the front of the hall, put on the Sorting Hat, and it will choose where you belong. Take it off, then go to your table. From this moment on, you are Hogwarts students. Your House is your home for the next seven years. Your actions reflect on it. That is a thousand years of tradition to live up to. Do not let it down.”  
  
She passed Harry with barely a glance, but Harry followed her, catching up just as the witch reached the door.  
  
“Ma’am? Ah- Professor?”  
  
McGonagall turned, one severe eyebrow raised.  
  
Harry bit her lip. “I was wondering- you said you’d be calling us by name.”  
  
“Of course, Miss Potter.”  
  
“Could you...” She swallowed. McGonagall looked as rigid as iron. This was a waste of time. “Could you call me under another name?”  
  
That sharp eyebrow rose a little higher.  
  
“Because- everyone so far just wanted to meet Harriet Potter. They only care because I’m famous. I want people to get to know me.”  
  
A pause. McGongall turned slowly, giving Harry her full attention for the first time. “You have your mother’s eyes.”  
  
Harry blinked, not understanding.  
  
“I taught her, in her time here,” McGonagall added. She spoke slowly, the words a burden on her. “She desired something similar. To be seen for herself, rather than her blood status. It was something she had to confront eventually, all the same. This charade won’t last, you understand that, don’t you, Miss Potter?”  
  
“Yes, Professor,” Harry said, wilting.  
  
McGonagall turned to continue into the hall beyond, only to pause in the doorway.  
  
“What name did you have in mind?”  
  
XXX  
  
The Great Hall lived up to its name. A cathedral-sized room lit by innumerable floating candles. Harry kept her gaze up, scanning the vaulted ceiling. (“Enchanted!” Hermione whispered down the line). They were far from the city and all its light pollution, and the stars were amazing.  
  
Harry continued looking up, steadily ignoring the hundreds of watchful students in the hall, breaking her focus only to clap when the students she’d met were sorted.  
  
Gryffindor for Hermione and Neville. The House of the brave.  
  
Braver than her, for sure.  
  
She hadn’t really given which house she wanted much thought. A few of her books had mentioned the Houses, but never in much detail. They were a given. Something that witches and wizards were just assumed to know about.  
  
“Patil, Parvati!” A dark-skinned girl went to Gryffindor. The girl immediately after had to be her sister- probably a twin. Ravenclaw for her.  
  
Harry tensed. Potter wasn’t far after Patil. Would McGonagall go through with it?  
  
“Pickering, Adam!”  
  
Her spine like a bowstring, taut and waiting. Blackscale sensed her agitation and coiled inward, whether to prepare to strike at a threat, or to comfort her with his presence, Harry couldn’t tell.  
  
“Prescott, Gladys!”  
  
Relief. Harry unknotted, exhaling through her teeth.  
  
She was just beginning to grow giddy when it happened-  
  
“Riddle, Harriet!”  
  
She turned.  
  
The hall was already filled with whispers. Students murmuring to each other about prospective sortings, or just catching up with friends after the summer. It seemed to grow greater as she stepped forward though. A dull roar of hissed talk. The weight of their eyes on her suddenly ten-fold.  
  
Harry kept her eyes on the flagged floor in front of her. A stool appeared ahead, holding a ragged looking hat.  
  
She lifted it. Sat.  
  
Put it on.  
  
XXX  
  
“Interesting. Interesting. Where to put you, I wonder? No desire for fame, I see in you. A shame, for fame is something you will live with.”  
  
What did she want?  
  
She wanted to be off this bloody stool, not stood up in front of the entire school like some kind of display.  
  
“I see. Definitely not suited for that, then. You have a lot of desire, but… little ambition. No drive for power, child? No need to leave those humble beginnings behind?”  
  
No. Yes.  
  
Those weren’t the same things.  
  
“You’ve endured much. It takes bravery to do so.”  
  
She wasn’t brave. Bravery would be standing up to the Dursleys. Or telling the truth to Longbottom, Neville, who had looked a little lost when he was sorted, like he was missing a friend.  
  
“What do you desire, then?”  
  
Quiet. Softness. Her forest. Mornings with Blackscale, learning about the land. Or like she’d desired on the train, what she’d really wanted. A couple of close friends. People who knew Harry, but not Potter. A place for her. For what few friends she had. Power just meant more fame. More attention. And if the Dursleys had taught her nothing else, it was that attention only brought trouble.  
  
Somewhere safe.  
  
A change- the hat musing to itself.  
  
“I could send you to Hufflepuff. They welcome all. You would find yourself a home there. But do you prefer safety itself, or what that safety brings, Harriet Potter?”  
  
She blinked beneath the hat.  
  
What?  
  
“The chick must break out of its shell to see the world, child. Yes, yes...” The hat paused, seeming to draw breath. “Better be… RAVENCLAW!”  
  
XXX  
  
The blue-bannered table had been reserved so far, clapping for new arrivals. Even that scattered applause was a bit much, as Harry set the hat back down on the stool and made her way over, face slowly growing hot.  
  
Someone pushed out a seat for her, and she dropped into it.  
  
XXX  
  
“What’s this?” And that was all the warning she had before Blackscale dropped out of her hair and onto the table.  
  
The Ravenclaws around her, who were only just beginning to dig in, and were finally ignoring her for a moment, all looked.  
  
A girl squealed. A boy drew back, choking on a mouthful of sprouts.  
  
“I’m a parselmouth,” Harry said. She was going to have to do this a lot, wasn’t she?  
  
Blackscale, now nosing through her plate, barely looked up at her. “What a strange bunch of food. Where’s the mice? Or the pig meat you always give me?”  
  
“How are you even hungry?” Harry hissed at him, suddenly bitter over the reasons why.  
  
“I’m not. Just curious.”  
  
“Honestly!” she said to him, exasperated. “His name is Blackscale,” she added to the people around her, all of whom were staring now.  
  
The boy sitting across from her, who had pushed his seat all the way back from the table, nodded slowly. “Safe, is he?”  
  
“He rode all the way up in my robes. He’s safe.”  
  
An older girl just down the table wearing a prefect’s badge leaned in. “Leave Riddle alone. We’ll have time to talk about her familiar later. Riddle, pass me the gravy please? And no snakes on the table.”  
  
XXX  
  
She’d just finished her goulash when something made her look up. It was… instinct. A vague sense of being watched. It should be impossible to really tell in a hall full of hundreds, but she could.  
  
Professor Quirrel sat at the staff table, turned in his chair to speak to a dark-haired man at his left.  
  
Quirrel wasn’t looking at her, but she was almost sure he had been.  
  
Something flickered in her magic. Not the all-encompassing blanket of Hogwart’s magic, or the wildness of the lands outside. This was visceral. An odd sort of leap in her belly. A quickening of her heart. Her scar prickling.  
  
And a sudden sense of something. The same impulse that had let her find her magic in the first place. If she just reached out and… and did something, it would…  
  
“Riddle. Hey, Riddle, what’re you looking at?”  
  
Harry blinked slowly. “What?”  
  
Someone tugged her sleeve. Prefect Clearwater was leaning over to reach her.  
  
“Sit down, please.”  
  
Harry sat.  
  
XXX  
  
Dinner ended with a few parting words from Dumbledore. Some nonsense, and some foreboding.  
  
A corridor on the third floor. A forbidden forest. What did that mean? Having all that land out there and not being able to use it made Harry itch.  
  
They finished with the Hogwart’s School Song.  
  
Harry realized two things about Ravenclaw: Very few of them could sing. And they were close enough to the Gryffindor table that no one could hear them anyway.  
  
XXX  
  
All these moving staircases and not one of them actually moved upward? Harry didn’t usually need an escalator, but it seemed like they just kept going up.  
  
Clearwater, who was leading the pack of new Ravenclaws, just kept saying “A little bit further,” directing them up endless flights of stairs and through long, torchlit corridors.  
  
Harry wanted to stop and take in the scenery. Hogwart’s interior was filled with life. Paintings that moved. Suits of armor, some mundane, some so fantastic it looked like it belonged in a movie. Marble pillars in alcove that held glowing, rainbow-hued tablets. And above it all, a constant, underlying sense of magic.  
  
It was like her first brushes with it in the forest. That river of warmth and life just waiting to be tapped behind her heart. And Hogwarts felt like that, but moreso, like sinking into the bloodstream of an infinitely vaster creature.  
  
Her own magic tingled, and for the first time in a long day, Harry found herself really smiling, her fingertips twitching at just how wonderful it all was.  
  
XXX  
  
Ravenclaw Tower wasn’t what she’d expected. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the tall, bookshelved common room, full of desks and chairs, but ringed with arched windows and blue hangings, was an odd mix of library and villa. It was… airy. The sun during the day must be blinding.  
  
Not that she was complaining. Now that she was here, it was sinking in. Magic wasn’t just real, it was- it was this, and she was going to be living here. Hogwarts. Not the Dursleys.  
  
And she was itching to dig into those shelves and find out just how much magic there was in the world.  
  
XXX  
  
The dorm itself was the tower above the common room. A curving flight of steps led to the second story and continued on upward, but the first-year rooms ringed the landing.  
  
Two girls she’d met at dinner, Patil and Fawcett, joined her on the landing, followed shortly after by a small herd of others. Sue Li, Lisa Turpin, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Isobel MacDougel rounded out the year, with Clearwater stopping by to point out a few features of their rooms.  
  
“Beds are assigned alphabetically. If you don’t like your room, work it out among yourselves. Watercloset is this door here. Showers don’t run out of hot water, but this is a big year, and there’s only… three stalls, I think, so you might want to work out a schedule. Enter your room, tap the lock with your wand, and say your name. That keys it to you. Anything you want to keep private, you leave in there. Any questions?”  
  
“Aye,” MacDougel said. “Is there any easier way to get up here? The stairs are murder.”  
  
Clearwater smiled darkly. “No one ever said Ravenclaw didn’t value hard work.”  
  
XXX  
  
Her room. The thought took a moment to sink in, and it wasn’t really clicking yet.  
  
Her room.  
  
And not in the way she’d had a room at Privet Drive. That had been just another one of Dudley’s hand-me-downs.  
  
This was hers. It had a lock and a door and a window. Harry stood on tiptoe to peer out.  
  
It faced the lake, a sweeping black mirror far below, glittering with reflected light from the castle.  
  
She was too tired to unpack.  
  
Instead, she shoved her trunk to one side, locked the door- and wasn’t that novel, before slipping between the sheets. Her bed was narrow, but still far wider and more plush than Dudley’s broken down old mattress.  
  
“Tomorrow will be better,” she whispered.  
  
Blackscale curled up beside her pillow, tongue tickling her wrist.  
  
His voice was the last thing she heard before sleep came, his hisses mingling with the sound of wind whirling around the tower.  
  
“Tomorrow will be better.”  
  
XXX  
  
XXX  
  
Goodbye, fair Trevor, may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.  
  
This was almost a much more standard Hogwarts Express ride. My first draft, which is literally 95% done, had her bump into Ron, and end up sharing a compartment with Theo Nott and Ron. The boys bitch at each other. We get some nice Nott snark, and Ron shows why he's kind of a bro to Harry by standing up to her- complete with getting off a fan-fucking-tastic one-liner on Malfoy. Neville and Hermione enter, looking for Trevor. Hermione spots Harry reading a book she's read before, they talk. The two sit down. Everyone sort of talks, gets to know each other.  
  
Hogwarts comes into sight for the first time on the train ride, and Harry muses about how far into the wilderness it is, and how she can feel the magic of the land to it. Gonna recycle that scene for probs next chapter.  
  
When I summarize it like this... it sounds fucking dull. My favorite part was actually Ron, who gets a bunch of great lines, and I had a lot of fun writing. He's such a dickweed in most of canon that I wanted to try and have the good parts of him emphasized a bit more. He's an older brother, if only a little, and fem!Harry wouldn't trip his jealousy factor in quite the same way as regular.  
  
I wasn't happy with that draft and completely rewrote the entire train ride. The Hogwarts section is largely the same.  
  
I debated at length whether to have Harry tell the truth about Trevor or not. Having her tell the truth was... it didn't turn out too well. That's the kind of story route where she basically ends up a pariah. Not to mention that Dumbledore would be all over that shit, since to him it would look (reasonably so), like Tom Riddle 2.0 just came to Hogwarts. It was an unpleasant idea, and having her lie about it gives her a nice bit of opportunity for character development in making it up to Neville.


	5. 5

5

The sun rose at exactly 6:23 on her first morning at Hogwarts. Harry knew this because that was the moment she woke, the first rays through her eastward window gold and blinding. A small, squishy, nagging part of her, somewhere down in her gut, urged her to get up, because the Dursleys would want their breakfast.

Harry ignored it. She resisted the urge to pull her window shade as well. Rising would break the moment.

Inhale. Then slow exhale, settling into her mattress, limbs growing boneless and soft, warming in the sunlight. Another deep down part, like a rod in her spine, was relaxing as well. A tension she hadn’t even noticed was fading away.

She lay there, and for the first time in her life, luxuriated.

XXX 

Harry was drowsing by the time someone knocked on her door.

“Riddle, hey, Riddle. You up? Flitwick wants everyone downstairs in ten,” the girl outside called. Harry hadn’t quite matched name to voice, or even to face yet, but she thought it might be Turpin.

Harry stirred and stretched, arms reaching, her back popping. A low, satisfied groan escaped her before she managed to form actual words. “Ah- alright, thanks.”

Turpin yelled an affirmative, and then thumped down the stairs, leaving Harry to get ready.

Where putting on her robes had been an ordeal the day before, like preparing for the curtain to rise on some daunting new task, now it was like… settling in. The new order of things. Robes and wand and a blue tie round her throat.

Harry tugged her hair back into a loose ponytail, wondering if she might do something more with it now that she… well, now that she could. She giggled at the thought. No Dursleys here to watch over her.

Blackscale, still dozy and warm from her sheets, got draped around her shoulders like a shawl.

She was dressed.

XXX 

Professor Flitwick was a tiny man, barely chest-high even for Harry, who was the shortest girl in her year. They stood waiting in the common room until the last few boys trickled down, rubbing their eyes, and then he spoke.

Flitwick’s voice wasn’t as reedy as Harry had expected. It was, but he had a calm, confident tone that gave his words a heft that belied his stature. He held the entire year’s attention without effort, laying down the ground rules and his expectations for new Ravenclaws.

“Collaboration is fine, but always give credit where it is due. Do not cheat.”

“Intelligence is not wisdom. You will learn this.”

And finally: “Never be afraid to ask for help. Hogwarts is your home, and your House is your family. Support them, and they will support you.” 

XXX

Flitwick concluded by passing out timetables and maps for all the new students, assigning one of the prefects that Harry hadn’t met to watch over them.

“Miss Riddle, a word, if you please?”

Harry looked up from her timetable.

Flitwick was looking at her. He had been talking to her.

She swallowed. Did he… did he know about Trevor? Was she in trouble already?

“If you check your schedule,” Flitwick said. “You will notice I’ve modified it with the changes you requested, and took the liberty of informing your other professors.”

Harry glanced down at the page, frowned, and then looked up again.

Flitwick winked at her.

“Oh.” Harry grinned at him. “That’s- thank you, sir. That’s a real relief.”

“Happy to help.” And then he leaned forward just a bit, his voice dropping. For her ears only. “I would suggest, Miss Riddle, that you tell any friends you make about these changes. It will be… easier, in the long run.”

“I think that’s… I don’t know,” Harry said slowly. Personally, she thought keeping the secret forever might be the better choice, but… he’d done her a favor. A real favor, with seemingly no strings attached.

“But I think I can try.” 

XXX 

Flitwick’s words stayed with her as she went down to breakfast. It hit her suddenly, as Harry was navigating one of the revolving staircases – was she dishonoring her parents’ names by going around as Riddle?

Or would they understand?

She would never know.

XXX

Breakfast, and introductions. The ice had been broken somewhat by having spent the night, and Harry alternated bites of her eggs with speaking to her housemates. She didn’t have much to say, really, and was having to carefully edit most of her history so as not to out herself as a Potter, or reveal the Dursleys.

MacDougel and Brocklehurst seemed to be bonding over both being Scots, and had roped Turpin into their conversation. Meanwhile, Patil and Fawcett, who Harry had briefly spoken with the night before, sat beside and across from her and discussed some kind of wizarding cultural event Harry didn’t quite grasp. Something about Solstices, and the two comparing differences in how their families celebrated them.

Harry found herself listening more than talking, just trying to soak up all the myriad details of wizard life. Su Li, who sat at Harry’s left elbow, and who was apparently a muggleborn, seemed to be doing much the same, but Harry was grateful to her- Li asked a lot of questions, most of which Harry had been wondering herself.

“Hey, Riddle.”

She looked up from scrutinizing a platter of bacon. The idea of eating a creature was unappetizing. She wouldn’t eat Blackscale, so how was a pig any different?

“Yeah?”

“You’re a parselmouth, right?” Fawcett said, leaning forward. “Where’d you get it from?”

Harry frowned. “What?”

“Well, it’s… you know,” Fawcett said, gesturing vaguely with her hands. “It’s dark. I heard Slytherin was one, and that he only got it cuz he bathed in the blood of a hundred snakes.”

A few of the other girls started at that, and the hiss of whispers flashed around Harry.

“That’s ridiculous,” Patil interjected, scowling at Fawcett. “Parseltongue is a respected tradition in India, and it’s well-known that it’s a family trait. You inherit it, like being a metamorphmagus or a bone-singer.”

“Oh.” Harry found herself staring at the bacon again as she thought. Her appetite had gone away entirely at some point. “Well… my dad was a wizard, and I guess my mother was…” Aunt Petunia was a muggle, so… “A muggleborn. But they both died when I was little, so I grew up with my muggle relatives.”

There was a break in the conversation as the other girls digested that fact.

“So she doesn’t know,” Li said thoughtfully. “Do wizards keep family registries?”

The implications to that sank home at once.

“Can… can we not?” Harry said, picking her words carefully. Her cover would fall apart instantly. And she honestly didn’t care where her talent came from. Finding out would take all the _magic_ out of it, like something that had made her special was just a quirk of genetics.

Another break in the conversation, this time with most of the other girls exchanging loaded glances that Harry didn’t miss.

“It’s still dark though. So Riddle’s family is probably dark, aren’t they?” Fawcett was leaning forward again, looking around at everyone for support. “We could look them up, I bet.”

Something in her tone, a wheedling, giddy sort of excitement, was familiar. It was the same voice Dudley used when he said things like “Hey, Mum, look what she’s doing _now._ ” The same that the girls in primary had used. “Hey, Potter, how’s the folks?” “Potter, tomorrow is parent-teacher conferences- oh _wait_.”

“Leave it alone, Fawcett. I didn’t even _know_ my parents, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

The other girl opened her mouth again, but her response was lost in the sudden _bong_ of the school bell going off.

Breakfast was over.

XXX 

The decision to explore was a sort of group-idea. All the first-year girls had drifted out of the Great Hall, but none really had anywhere to be. Someone had gotten the idea, and here they were.

Harry found herself ambling along at the back of the pack. Patil was leading the charge, her map in hand, seeming determined to document every inch of the castle before next period. Fawcett, now paired up with Turpin, was talking about something that didn’t seem to involve Harry.

Harry was content to keep it that way and just take her time. Blackscale had shifted to rest his head on her shoulder, and was using his vantage to watch the castle.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry said to him, gesturing toward the courtyard they were currently walking through.

Hogwarts was a citadel. Clifftop above a vast lake, and high enough that even in the low courtyard, she would see down onto the grounds, and peer out over the forest.

There was a knot of tiny buildings a few miles away from it, but that was _it_.

Just the castle, the village, and the forest.

And so, so much forest. There were mountains to the north, but forest ran to the eastern horizon, miles and miles stretching as far as she could see. It filled the air with the scent of sap and pine, and the rustle of leaves.

Her little grove in Surrey felt pitifully insignificant all of a sudden. It was like they’d driven straight off the map of Britain and into somewhere beyond things like maps and names. A place where the land was still primeval, the forests untouched by man.

She was so focused on the scenery that she nearly walked into Turpin.

The other girls had stopped at a juncture and seemed to be debating on where to go next.

Patil wanted to go up and find the easiest way to Ravenclaw Tower. Li and Fawcett wanted to explore the dungeons- start low and work their way up. Brocklehurst wanted to go find the library, while MacDougel and Turpin were getting bored and wanted to just hang out.

Harry was okay with any of these but the last. Any new bit of Hogwarts was fascinating, and it was honestly overwhelming trying to think of what she wanted to see first.

Truthfully, though, she just didn’t really want to speak up. The other girls minus Fawcett were alright with her thus far, and she’d somehow not blown her secret, so that was good. But Harry was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For another moment like Trevor to come along and ruin her day.

Back in Surrey, the boys had disliked her on principle, but the other girls… They’d always known she was different, and had homed in on it. The longer she spent around the other girls here, the sooner they’d find the cracks in her story, or ask a question she couldn’t answer.

Even now, they were beginning to form groups. They had common ground. Things to talk about. Hobbies and interests. Shared history pre-Hogwarts.

Harry had none of those things. She had a decade of a cupboard, and solitude so profound that she’d named each and every spider under the stairs. No friends, no hobbies, no _history_ to draw on. The Dursleys had worked so hard to quash the magic in her that they’d hammered down everything else that might make her a person.

The group split.

Harry drew a ragged breath, worrying her lip with a canine.

She turned and walked the other way. 

XXX 

The Hogwarts grounds were sprawling, sloping gently down until they reached the forest. The single cobbled road leading down to the gates divided the grass, and Harry followed it for a ways before veering off.

She had an idea in mind, but the specifics weren’t there yet. It had been something she was planning to leave for a couple days, but now the need was overpowering. Something, anything, to get her mind off her peers.

The forest outskirts grew up around her, sparse trees replacing bushes, and dead leaves replacing grass. Harry stayed on the edge, walking west until the trees broke in front of her.

A small stream crossed the grove, coming off the lake to head deeper into the forest. The flow was stolid, the water muddy.

Harry smiled grimly and pulled off her shoes. 

XXX

Blackscale was laughing at her.

She was shin-deep in the in the tributary, robes shucked, and her pants rolled up to mid-thigh. She was also bare-footing it across the squishy, unnameable muck that covered the creek bottom, utterly soaked, and had yet to catch a single toad.

 _“_ _Hatchling, please, have mercy,”_ Blackscale called from his perch on a flat lakeside rock. _“If you wanted to hunt toads, you should have asked me.”_ The sound he made was just sporadic hissing, but her power translated it as mocking, grating laughter.

“This is your fault in the first place!” she snapped back at him.

Something splished in the reeds ahead, and Harry lunged hard enough to splash water all up her front. The frog vanished into a tangle of roots. She hadn’t even been close.

Harry used a few of the choice swear words she’d heard from Uncle Vernon.

She was just repositioning, moving down the marsh to find a better spot, when someone hailed her.

“’Arry, what’re yer doing there?”

XXX

Hagrid was possibly the world’s hairiest angel. Not only had he cleaned all the muck off her with a single flick of his umbrella, but also dried her as well.

They were walking slowly toward his cabin- Harry jogging to keep up, calling up to him to explain the situation.

“Toads? Thought those were outta style. Who’d yer say had a toad?” he said.

“Neville ah- I think it was Logbottom?”

“Longbottom.” Hagrid _hmm_ -ed at that. “Good family, them. Suppose I could maybe...” He squinted for a moment back at the lake, then made a motion with his umbrella like he was tugging something. “Accio toads.”

There was a surprising amount of catharsis in watching twenty odd toads rocket out of the stream, all croaking madly. There was less in Harry getting bombarded with squishy amphibian missiles.

XXX

Tea and biscuits in Hagrid’s cabin. It was… _him,_ distilled into the form of a home. Everything handmade, all rough stone and weave and wood, bundles of herbs and flowers hanging from the mantle to dry. It smelled like fur and earth and of a faint musk she thought was Hagrid’s sweat.

“’Arry Riddle, huh?” Hagrid took a gulp from his bucket-sized teacup at that. “Dunno if I get it, but I trust yer to do what’s best for yerself. Hope yer not gonna take after that other Riddle.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He grimaced at her, his smile fading. “Got me expelled from Hogwarts. Sneaky bastard, he was.”

Harry set down the rockcake she was chiseling apart with her fork. “Oh. I’m sorry, Hagrid. I didn’t know.”

“Not yer fault. He was always up to no good. Head Boy, and all that, but still running around with all those pureblood maniacs in Slytherin. No idea what happened to him though. Probably nothing good.”

Harry found herself matching his grimace. “Sorry anyway. How about- why don’t you just keep calling me Harry then?”

“’Arry it is.” Hagrid paused for a moment before leaning in conspiratorially. “Enough of this doom and gloom. I know yer like magical beasts. I’ve got summat you might like to see.” 

XXX 

The third floor corridor wasn’t forbidden if you had staff with you, apparently.

“...you named it ‘Fluffy,’” Harry said, craning her neck to try and take in the entirety of the enormous, three-headed dog filling the room.

“Ain’t he grand?” Hagrid boomed, patting the dog’s shoulder. “Fluffy, this is ‘Arry. Say ‘hullo’ to her, will yer?”

Six feral eyes turned on her.

“Let ‘im smell yer first.”

She lifted a trembling hand. Could wizards regrow limbs?

A damp nose the size of a dinner plate pressed against her palm. The center head withdrew, with the left, then right taking their turns to sniff her.

Harry tried her best not to quiver. Magical beasts were fun to read about, but seeing them in person was a whole different animal.

Hot breath blew her hair back. All three heads were lowering toward her.

“Pat ‘im,” Hagrid called.

She tapped a hand against Fluffy’s center head. His fur was thick enough for her hand to disappear into, but also layered, the stiff outer coat giving way for a downy underlayer. Before she realized it, she was raking her fingers through it.

Fluffy whined, then bumped his other heads at her hard enough to knock her flat.

She kept petting him.

Harry had imagined having a pet before. Blackscale was more of a friend, but this… this was… something. Viewed without the lens of mortal terror coloring her perceptions, Fluffy really was a sight to behold. He was constantly in motion, tail wagging, each head moving of its own accord. His shoulders were broader than a normal dog’s, to house all three thickly-muscled necks, and he carried an odd sort of… aura around him.

Wizard magic was like light off a fire. It radiated. Or at least every wizard she’d seen thus far had done that. Her closest comparison was Hagrid. His magic stuck close to him. Fluffy wore a thin layer of magic like another coat of fur. It tingled around her fingers as she patted his bony head, warm and reassuring, proof against anything that might harm him.

His eyes closed, center, left, then right, and Fluffy lowered himself to the floor so she could better reach him. There was a trapdoor there, probably in case Fluffy needed to use the bathroom. Harry stepped over it and began scratching his ears. 

XXX

There was something to be said for getting to sit on Hagrid’s shoulders so she was tall enough to give Fluffy a belly rub.

XXX

Hagrid escorted her out.

Harry retrieved her bucket of toads, and Blackscale, who had adamantly refused to come in.

“Hagrid, that was…” She waved sticky, dog-slobbery hands, trying to illustrate the enormity of what had just happened.

He beamed at her. “Knew yer’d like that, and Fluffy really took a shine to yer. I got more like ‘im. Not cereberuses, I mean, but other magical creatures. Yer ever wanna come see them, yer jus let me know.”

She smiled at him. And then the purpose of her toad-bucket, and why she’d run into Hagrid in the first place resurfaced, floating out of her memory like something dislodging from the lake bottom.

Her smile dimmed. The diversion was over.

“Hagrid, can I ask you something?”

“Anythin’.”

“It’s just...” She trailed off. The words didn’t want to come. Too many attempts, and too many failures. Every adult before Hagrid had been a disappointment.

Before Hagrid. Who had rescued her from the Dursleys. Taken her to Diagon Alley. Watched over her around a bunch of eerie goblins. Invited her to tea when she was hip-deep in swamp mud.

“How… how do I make friends?”

Hagrid squinted at her. “Whadyer mean, ‘Arry?”

She half-expected him to smile and make a joke like ‘ain’t I yer friend?’, but he didn’t.

Instead, the giant man stopped walking. “You aren’t ‘aving trouble with the other kids, are yer? Nobody giving yer trouble?”

“No. Not really.” She drew a deep breath and opened her mouth. What she meant to say was “It’s complicated,” but what came pouring out was all her anxieties over the other girls. That she didn’t even know _how_ to be a girl. That they had nothing in common. The only thing special about her was her name and that was only because her parents were dead. Hagrid was the first person she’d _ever_ had a real conversation with. How was she supposed to make it seven years at Hogwarts when she was an impostor _–_ someone so barely a person that even her name was fake.

The tears threatened to come, and she bit them back, only for them to choke her throat instead. Her words faltered.

And Hagrid knelt. His arms rose and encircled her.

“’S’all right, ‘Arry.” He drew her in, pressing her face to his woolly overcoat. “Shoulda known yer’d be worryin about all that. I think yer might be like me. Better with animals than people.” One hand patted her back. “But that don’ mean I don’ have any friends. Jus’ means a little more work.”

She sniffled and pulled back just far enough to wipe her nose on her sleeve. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Hagrid released her from the hug. His dark eyes were shiny, his beard twitching. “’Arry, this kinda thing… I ain’ good at. But right now, I want you ter take that bucket. Take it and give it ter that Longbottom boy. An’- an’ then, you talk ter him. See if ‘e wants ter be yer friend.”

Harry gaped at him. Blackscale had killed Trevor! It was her fault. Hagrid didn’t know that, but _still_. It was- it was perverse.

But then Hagrid sniffed loudly. “Go on then. I ain’ good at these things, but I tried ter imagine what yer mum would’ve said. An’ she woulda said summat like that.”

And then they were both crying, and there was no way Harry could say no.

XXX

Hagrid let her borrow his handkerchief. It was floral-patterned, and smelled like dog biscuits.

XXX

Where exactly was the Gryffindor common room? Ravenclaw was a tower, so Harry assumed Gryffindor probably was also. But Hogwarts had about a thousand towers, and not all of them matched up the way they should have.

It took Harry a while to figure that out. That just because a tower was adjacent when she looked out the window didn’t mean Hogwarts’ corridors complied. She just wished she’d figured it out before she was hopelessly lost somewhere on the top floor.

Two boys turned the corner ahead. Red-headed, and twins. Both had red ties.

Harry sped up, lugging the heavy toad-bucket a little harder.

XXX

What the hell kind of names were ‘Gred’ and ‘Forge?’

And ‘Furry Mystery’ wasn’t a good nickname. Where were they even getting these from?

XXX 

It took her most of the way across the seventh floor to get the joke.

Every day at Hogwarts better not be as exhausting as this one.

XXX

The twins, both talking intermittently, finishing the other’s sentences, were just leading her down a winding side hallway when a portrait swung open.

Two more boys emerged. Another red head – he looked a bit like the twins, maybe a relative. And a short, round-faced boy.

Harry stuttered to a halt.

Neville Longbottom. 

XXX

“IheardyoulostyourtoadsoI- IgotyousomenewonesI’mreallysorryIhopeit’sokay!”

Harry thrust the bucket of amphibians at Neville. Her guts were leaden, her throat a pinhole, her mouth the only part of her still moving.

He stared at her. At the bucket. At her again.

“Oh,” Neville said.

“Yeah.”

The third redhead was staring between the two of them while the twins snickered in the background.

Slowly, Neville reached out and took the bucket. “Thanks?” He hesitated for a moment, looking down at the squirming toads. “You didn’t have to do this. Trevor always turns up eventually.” Another pause, shorter this time. “I mean, it was nice, though.”

Harry nodded. Not so much agreeing as just moving her head. Trevor wasn’t going to turn up – she could feel the lump in Blackscale’s abdomen pressing against her shoulder from where he was concealed under her robes. And thinking about that made her want to sick up into the bucket.

“Did you catch all these yourself?” the red-haired boy interjected. “You must be really quick. Bet you’re a dab hand at Quidditch.” He offered her a hand. “Ron Weasley, by the way.”

She shook it. “Harry P- Riddle.”

“You wanna come down to lunch with us?” Ron asked. “My older brother Charlie told me there’s a shortcut all the way down to the first floor around here somewhere.”

One of the twins snorted loudly. Ron glared at him.

Every bit of Harry, from the bedrock of her bones to the tip of the tiny hairs on her arms, was screaming at her to say no.

But Hagrid’s handkerchief was a soft weight in her pocket, and she could still smell Fluffy’s scent on her robes.

Harry nodded jerkily. “Yeah. Sure. That’s… fine.”

 

XXX

XXX

  
When are we getting to the fireworks factory? This chapter was originally basically this, then I went in and added her first day of classes, and it bogged down. Cut that, added a lot more Hagrid, and here we are. I swear we'll get to the central conflict next chapter.  
  
As for this. It's not as gut-punchy as the last chapter, but we still run into some issues that Harry has. Like the fact that canon Harry is almost astonishingly well-developed considering his upbringing. Harriet is... less so. Girls are rather cut-throat, after all, and she has all that Trevor baggage weighing her down.


	6. 6

6

“We’ve been by here twice now,” Ron muttered, more to himself than to Harry or Neville.

They trailed two steps behind the red-haired boy; Harry uncomfortable with leading when she was lost also, and Neville seeming to feel similarly.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Neville was doing the same. When he saw her, he turned away.

He was still lugging along the toad bucket.

Something twisted at the back of her throat.

Did he suspect?

Was he waiting for her to admit it?

She swallowed thickly. Making amends hadn’t done nearly as much to make her feel better as she’d thought it would.

“Do- do you like Hogwarts so far?”

Her head jerked up. “Sorry?”

Neville repeated himself, stammering through the sentence while looking down at his hands.

“Oh,” Harry said. They walked a few more meters before she had an answer. “It’s… rather large, isn’t it? And- ah...” She fumbled for something more. Something that wouldn’t make her sound thick as a tree stump. “I like how the magic feels. Hogwarts’, I mean.”

Neville nodded.

Ahead, Ron was muttering what sounded like swears under his breath as he stood at the juncture of five different hallways, none of which looked familiar.

“It’s the ley lines,” Neville said softly. “I- I think.”

“Oh.” Harry nodded like she understood what those were.

Ron pointed down a hall. “I think that leads north. That’s where we want to go, right?”

Judging by the sun shining in through a tall, leaded window to their left, north would likely be two to the right of that hall. Harry hesitated for a long moment before she voiced it.

Ron turned to look at her, glancing between her and Neville, who after a moment, nodded. “That’s north.”

The red-head beamed. “Nice. Remind me to ask Mum about the compass spell later. I know she’s used it before.”

They set off again.

XXX

The break in the conversation seemed to have also broken any momentum Harry and Neville had built up. They’d returned to not looking at each other, continuing on in Ron’s wake.

“Third time through here,” Ron grumbled, aiming a sulfurous glare at an elaborate tapestry of… Harry squinted. A man and some… giant man-creatures doing… ballet?

She was probably misunderstanding it.

“Where’s that door go?” Neville said.

They all looked.

A door had appeared across from the wall-hanging, one that definitely hadn’t been there a moment before. 

XXX

The room beyond was impossibly large. Literally impossibly. The wall it was on was, judging by the numerous windows, an exterior one. And yet here it was.

It was also entirely empty besides an aperture in the floor. Stone slab stairs descended in a tight spiral.

“Knew there was a shortcut!” Ron crowed.

They lined up at the top of the steps.

“How do you know it’s not just a store room or something?” Neville asked.

“Or just another tower?” added Harry, scowling at the idea.

Ron shrugged. “Charlie told me there was one, and he isn’t the kind to take the piss. Besides, it’s the only stairs we’ve seen in ages.”

Harry was about to say something- agree with him, maybe, when something stopped her.

She turned, cocking her head.

A faint noise, just on the edge of hearing.

She began to notice the room’s magic. It felt different than the background hum that the rest of the school had. This was more like… it began, and ended, but in different spots. Like there was magic missing, or out of sight, but all of it was connected somehow.

And beyond that… a sound

A whisper.

Harry craned her neck, trying to hear it over the sound of Neville and Ron’s stair debate.

A man’s voice, soft and distant, speaking without pause or breath.

Her skin prickled, all the little hairs rising in rows. An ache formed in the soft space beneath her tongue. Blackscale shifted, lifting his head from her robes, his coil a tugging leash around her throat.

The slap of rubber on stone cut through the voice. Ron and Neville were just starting down the stairs behind her.

She shivered once, shaking her head, and the feeling broke.

XXX 

If she ever learned anything about magic, it was going to be how to make stairs move on their own.

Two-hundred-ninety-seven bloody stairs to go from the seventh floor to the first.

And the door vanished behind them, so there’d be no using that shortcut again.

Harry sighed, rubbing her temples in annoyance. 

XXX

Harry sat gingerly at lunch. She didn’t think there was any rule against people from other houses sitting with each other, but it still made her wary to stand out. One blue tie amidst a hundred red was attention-grabbing.

The Great Hall at lunch was _loud_. Eight-hundred people, most of them children, all talking, trying to be heard over their neighbors, who were trying to do the same in turn. The noise reverberated off the stone walls and the arched roof, magnifying it into a stadium’s worth of sound.

Harry set down her half-sandwich to rub her eyes.

“You okay?” Ron asked, frowning around a mouthful of potato.

“Headache,” she murmured.

Probably the stress of yesterday heaped onto the frustration of today. It had been simmering as a faint tension since she woke, but the lunchtime tumult seemed to have pushed it over the final hurdle into an actual headache.

“There’s an infirmary if you’re not feeling good. Fred and George always said the nurse is kind of a battleaxe, but that’s just them, you know?”

“It’s okay. Go on.”

Ron cast another look at her before launching back into their discussion of some wizarding sport called ‘quidditch.’ She hadn’t grasped much beyond it was played on flying broomstick, and wasn’t _that_ something to think on later, if only it didn’t feel like someone was squeezing her skull in a vice.

“So the bludgers are like- they fly at players. Try to knock them around. Sort of a uh- wild card.” Ron made a jabbing motion with his finger, looking expectantly at Harry.

She shrugged.

Ron grimaced. “I’m not explaining it right. It’s like…” He picked up a grape from a platter, then a couple carrot sticks. The sticks got placed around the tabletop in a sort of formation. “If my goblet is the goal, and the carrots are chasers...”

He set down the grape and flicked it. The tiny fruit caromed off one carrot stick, ricocheting into the others before spinning off the table.

Harry put down her spoon with a snap. “Don’t waste food.”

She had never starved at the Dursleys, but when it came down to it, she’d never really been full until Blackscale taught her to forage. Food was food.

The red-head seemed to read some of her annoyance from her face. “Sorry.” He paused. “Maybe we could just play a match later. The pitch is open if no one is practicing. Neville, you in?”

The other boy had just finished eating and was looking pensively at the toad bucket. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess. I’m not really any good though.”

Across the table, a boy accidentally raked the tines of his fork across his plate. The scraping noise grated across Harry’s teeth, visceral and unpleasant enough that she could feel it.

“I’m going up.”

She rose, lifting her bag to her shoulder. The boys had both turned to look.

“You want us to come up with you?” Ron asked.

Harry frowned. “What?”

“To the infirmary,” Neville added. “It- I mean if you’re not feeling well.”

“Oh. I was just going to bed.” Harry managed a watery smile. “I’ve had enough wandering the halls for today.”

She took a step back. Hesitated. “Thanks, though. For asking.”

Ron shrugged. “See you tomorrow?”

That stopped her dead in her tracks. Did they actually want to see her again? After she’d run up with a bunch of toads like a lunatic, and then proceeded to stumble through every conversation they had. She’d fallen down stairs more gracefully than she’d navigated her time around Ron and Neville.

She licked dry lips. Swallowed. Squinted through the migraine. “Um. If you don’t mind?”

“Cool.” And with that, Ron turned back to his plate and began tugging a tray of brownies toward him.

Harry stared.

Neville shot her a smile before quickly glancing away.

Holy _hell_ , she was going to get Hagrid a magical dog toy or something, because his advice had actually worked.

XXX

The disbelieving euphoria of maybe having made some friends lasted all the way up to the sixth floor.

The sixth floor because that was where she got lost and had to resort to asking portraits for directions. Because Hogwarts apparently had talking paintings. That was a fascinating issue for a time when her brain wasn’t hammering against the inside of her skull.

The walk was long enough for doubt to creep in.

There had been tricks before. One of Dudley’s friends she hadn’t met trying to lure her in. Girls in school trying to put her down to make themselves look good.

Just… Ron and Neville had seemed so _earnest_.

She wanted them to be. Wanted to be their friend.

But if they were lying…

Harry groaned softly and massaged her forehead. The ache had spread to her scar, which was throbbing quietly, an off-tempo beat to the headache’s rhythm.

Trying to figure the boys out was just making the pain worse.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered.

If they still wanted to be her friend tomorrow. That was enough.

One day at a time.

XXX 

Her vision was swimming by the time she made it up to her room. She locked the door, drew the curtains, and curled up under the covers.

Sleep was slow in coming. She was weary, but even parceling through the memories of her first day at Hogwarts wasn’t enough to distract from the pounding.

In time with her heartbeat, it felt like. A nerve clenching and releasing.

And in tune with every release was a gnawing, scraping, empty feeling like hunger, only she’d just eaten. It was… as if the hollow darkness of the cupboard under the stairs had a feeling to it.

Blackscale slid across her pillow, his body ringing her head. His head paused beside hers.

 _“_ _Did you hear it?”_

“Hear what?”

Harry cracked an eyelid to look at him. A slitted yellow eye met hers.

 _“_ _The Ouroboros.”_

“...the what?” Speaking sent another jolt through her. “Blackscale, can this wait? My head is splitting.”

He hissed once, derisively, and then slithered off the bed.

His absence made falling asleep that much harder.

XXX 

She dreamed of the room with the shortcut. Only, in the dream, the room was more. There were other layers to it, other rooms overlaid like onion skin.

One of those other layers was a room filled to the brim with objects. A sea of misbegotten furniture and torn clothing, like Dudley’s second bedroom stretched to the size of a cathedral.

The whispers were back now, clearer than before. If she only just listened a little harder, she could make them out.

Far off in the room, something shining and silver toppled to land at the foot of an armoire. 

XXX 

She woke aching.

XXX

The first day of class.

Wonderful. She just had to take classes and tests and do homework and get graded on doing magic. The same magic she’d only known about for six weeks.

Blackscale was surlier than usual, but still consented to go with her. It was only that that gave her the courage to step out of her dorm room.

He said nothing about what had happened the day before, and in the rush of washing and dressing, Harry forgot to ask. 

XXX

For once, she was grateful for the other first year girls. Because they were essentially as new to this as she was, and it was much easier to be lost with a group than alone. Harry just stayed quiet and tried to keep beneath notice. Things would work out.

Even if Fawcett kept shooting her looks.

Turpin and MacDougel had apparently found the location of their first class the day before, but when they attempted to retrace their steps, the hallway was gone. It was only the kindness of a few passing upperclassmen to point them in the right direction that let them actually make it to Transfiguration on time.

XXX

Her first class did little to assuage her fears about what Hogwarts was going to be like.

She was trying to give McGonagall a chance. As strict and stern as the older woman was, she’d also looked out for Harry during the sorting. But when McGonagall talked gravely about how much effort transfiguration required, and stated in no-uncertain terms that anyone who couldn’t cut it would be chucked out of her class- Harry found it hard not to sweat.

XXX

_What._

A desk into a pig? How did that even work? Was it alive? Could you just create _life_ like that?

Did it die when McGonagall transfigured it back?!

Harry was fretting so badly that it took her most of the practical period to get her match to even begin to turn into a needle.

XXX 

She lagged behind the herd of girls more than usual on their way to Herbology. Casting spells with her wand was an odd experience- Transfiguration was basically her first go at it.

She’d held her wand, even waved it a bit, but Hagrid had warned her not to use it around Surrey.

But to actually use it to cast magic… She’d imagined her magic to flow like water, but using a wand was more like conducting electricity. Her magic _wanted_ to pass through the wand, and when it did, the wood grew warm and sang under her fingers.

If her raw magic was like trying to paint by throwing a bucket at a canvas, using a wand was like using a brush to draw lines and strokes.

At the same time… why did transfiguring a needle require a wand motion like a half-corkscrew done counterclockwise? Why couldn’t they simply will the needle to be different? When she’d experimented in the woods, she’d basically stared at twigs and leaves and _demanded_ them to change color or float or speak.

Most of the time they just exploded. But sometimes… when her magic thrummed through her like wildfire, things would happen.

Harry was staring down at her wand so intently that she nearly walked off one of the revolving staircases. A couple older boys laughed at her, and she dashed down the stairs to catch up with the rest of the Ravenclaws, her face burning. 

XXX

Professor Sprout was a delight. Enthusiastic about her craft, and earthy in a way that had nothing to do with the loam under her fingernails. An hour under her eye, learning the basics of Herbology- terms and definitions, classifications of magiflora, and Harry was hooked.

She ended up partnering with Su Li, just by virtue of the other girl being the closest to her when Sprout called for groups. But they had class with the Gryffindors, which meant Neville and Ron were at a nearby trestle table. Ron grinned at her, and Neville gave a small wave, which Harry returned.

“You ever garden much?” Su asked.

“Yeah. For my aunt and uncle. Watered the roses and stuff.”

The other girl pulled a face. “I live in a flat. Middle of London. The only plants we have are the rubber ones by the door.”

Harry shrugged, looking grimly down at the long list of terms and safety rules they’d be expected to know for everyday Herbology.

It was exciting, but daunting in a way her textbooks hadn’t really hammered home. This was an entire new _field_ of knowledge she had to learn. Literally _everything_ she’d learned before magic was in doubt now, because she’d only had half the facts. The basics no longer applied. Was there even such a thing as gravity? Was the sun real, or was it really just painted on the sky like they’d thought in the middle ages?

She’d seen ghosts at the first feast. If there were ghosts, was there an afterlife?

A Heaven? Or Hell?

She needed to get to the library before the top of her head popped off.

Or better yet…

Across from her, Ron and Neville were both running through the list with disconcerting ease. Was it because they had grown up as wizards? What an advantage they must have… Herbology was probably old hat to them.

First opportunity she got, she was getting all the answers she could out of the boys.

“You wanna quiz each other?” Su said, prodding her own paper.

Harry nodded jerkily.

At least quizzes were the same.

XXX

The Potions’ classroom was dark and dank. Subterranean. Harry found it claustrophobic, but Blackscale, growing tired of being draped around her, slipped away to cool off on the stone floor.

Professor Snape was… discomforting. He was watching her. She never caught him looking, but his presence was enough. He carried something raptorial in his demeanor. The intensity in his dark eyes, his beaky nose, his hands twisting at his side like talons.

Harry could feel his magic oozing across the room. It was… cold. Something suited to the gloom of the dungeons. But there was also power there. Something she’d caught only in glimpses from McGonagall; and whatever the transfiguration professor did to conceal her ability, Snape did not.

The first lesson proceeded much as Herbology and Transfiguration had. They covered the absolute basics: Snape’s expectations for the course, and safety protocol.

Harry stewed over whether he might ask them to dissect something right off the bat, and it was a relief when the bell finally rang with them only having covered proper brewing techniques.

She had to hustle to pack her things and make it up to the front of the class before Snape left.

“Sir. Ah- Professor, do you have a moment? I had a question about something.”

Snape stared down his nose at her. “Yes?”

Alarm buzzers were already going off in her head. That was the look an adult gave you when they didn’t like you. She’d seen it a lot.

Hesitantly, Harry rummaged in her bag for a moment before withdrawing her potions textbook. “I was reading this, and was wondering about some of the ingredients.” She flipped to the listing in the back, marked liberally with red pen. “How are all these animal parts harvested?”

The edge of his mouth curled down. “From an animal, girl. Where else would they come from?”

She flinched under his sneer, taking a step back. “But like-” Harry pointed to a specific line. “If you wanted adder scales, would you just _take_ some from a live snake? Is it… you know, humane?”

Snape seemed about to snap at her for that, only for his eyes to flash down to the serpent coiling around her ankles. He paused for a moment, looking down at her book. “Most potion reagents that come from an animal are harvested from specimens gathered or bred specifically for that purpose.”

“Oh.”

The professor seemed to take that as satisfactory, because he turned on his heel and walked away, black cloak billowing behind him.

“Wait! Sir, I… I was wondering.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Is it possible to take Potions without using animal ingredients?”

Snape turned fully.

Harry swallowed, tongue dry at his flat expression, and forged on. “I don’t want to hurt any animals, so I was trying to figure out alternatives to animal ingredients in my book.” She tapped the cover of her potions’ text. “But I don’t understand most of what they say.”

His face didn’t change, but he did blink. Slowly.

And then he looked at her for a long, long moment. Uneasy, Harry began to look away, but something stirred in the depths of his eyes. Deep down in the black of his irises. His magic was twining and twisting, curling around the edges of her own. It was like having his hands brush across her skin; Harry shuddered, acid churning in her gut.

“I… see,” Snape murmured. He paused, his gaze flicking away.

She gasped as the bugs under her skin vanished.

“I would suggest,” he said slowly. “Beginning with symbolic value.” His dark eyes flashed across her again, and Harry winced. “An essay. Check the syllabus for a list of what we will brew, and list alternatives. If it is satisfactory, you may substitute ingredients.” Another leaden pause, his eyes on her- Harry stared at the floor. “Endanger your classmates in any way, and you will use the standard.”

She nodded jerkily, and when he didn’t say anything else, blurted a thanks, grabbed Blackscale, and _ran_ from the classroom. She didn’t stop until she was up and out into the school proper, hurling herself into the first bathroom she saw.

Harry leaned against the sink, panting, her heart a heavy, uneven rhythm. Even now, she could still feel the touch of Snape’s magic on hers. What had he been _doing?_ Or worse- was it always like that? Was she expected to spend seven years with him as a teacher, enduring that creeping _dread_ for hours at a time?

She sighed, exhaling through her teeth, and leaned forward until her head touched the mirror.

And now she had to write an essay for him.

The thought made her hesitate, frowning into the too-close blur of her reflection.

He hadn’t said _no_ , even if he was weird. Which meant she could get out of having to mutilate animals for class.

Her tired sigh became one of relief.

XXX 

The second day of class started more easily. Charms was another wand-heavy course, but Flitwick was more jovial than McGonagall, and Harry was rather excited about the sheer utility of charms.

There was one for virtually everything, and if there wasn’t a specific charm, another could be applied in such a way as to work. Flitwick demonstrated this by filling a glass of water three times with three different charms. Each had a wildly varying purpose, but their end result was the same.

Even the basics would change things for her. Summoning water or food. Constructing a shelter. Warding off pests. All requisites if someone was to say, want to sleep in the woods, rather than spend another stifling night under the Dursleys’ roof.

Maybe… if she was proficient enough, it’d just be no more Dursleys. She could hit the road. Just take Blackscale and her meager possessions and _go._ She had money, and it’s not like the Dursleys gave her anything she couldn’t get with magic.

By the time she walked out of Flitwick’s classroom, her head was spinning. The magnitude of magic was less daunting when she looked at it in terms of being able to do _anything._

Realization became certainty. She wasn’t going home to the Dursleys. It would take some serious practice- enough to survive on her own with just magic, but it was a possibility. Not the far off daydream of a skinny brat in hand-me-down clothes, but a genuine option.

It felt like chains breaking.

XXX

Harry whispered her intentions to Blackscale as she walked to her next class. A few other students noticed her hissing and starting pointing, talking quickly to their neighbors, and Harry scurried on.

Blackscale listened until Harry had finished explaining, her voice high and breathless with excitement, and then gave a long, lazy hiss.

 _“_ _It’s about time you left the nest, hatchling.”_

“Humans don’t work the same way as snakes.”

 _“_ _Of course not. They’re far_ _too_ _complicated. The gods had it right the first time, when they made snakes. No useless parts.”_

Harry snorted. “I can name two things I have that you would want. It-”

Exactly what had to wait. She took two steps to the left to make way for an older student pushing his way through the crowd. Blackscale hissed angrily at the boy’s back.

“Anyway. Taste buds. And… what do you call it… being warm blooded?”

The adder was silent or a moment. Then he sighed. _“Tasting all the things you do might be nice. But you can keep your sweaty skin. Easier to just find a good, flat rock.”_ His tongue flickered in and out. _“I bet you wish you could smell like I do.”_

“I wonder if there’s a spell for that.”

 _“_ _And scales.”_

“Don’t get carried away.” 

XXX

Defense Against the Dark Arts was… not what she’d expected. Professor Quirrel was as squirrely as the first time she’d met him, and kept staring at her when she wasn’t looking just like Snape had.

The lesson itself was unremarkable. It wasn’t a word that she thought lent itself to magic, but after an hour of trying to decipher Quirrel’s tremulous, stuttering voice, Harry would have gladly taken another matron like McGonagall, or even a creep like Snape.

Quirrel was the type to walk and talk. He paced the front of his class as he lectured, and even swept up and down the aisles a couple times. Every time he passed Harry, she half-expected him to look at her, or stop beside her, but he didn’t.

But she hadn’t imagined that odd burst of _something_ when they had shaken hands in the Leaky Cauldron. And he’d definitely given her an eerie vibe during the opening feast.

And his _magic._ Every adult with magic she’d met so far had been noticeably greater than children. Bonfires beside matches. The degree varied- Hagrid was more subdued. Snape radiated. McGonagall was subdued, but still perceptibly powerful. Quirrel was none of these things. It was like his stutter extended into his magic- a flickering, faltering thing, like a sickly candle.

What was wrong with him? Could someone’s magic be ill?

XXX

“Read p-pages fifteen th-through twenty-s-seven, f-focusing on a basic h-hex and its uses. If y-you are c-curious, b-basic hexes are l-listed in the b-back of your books.” Quirrel clapped his hands together. “D-dismissed.”

Students began packing up and leaving. Quirrel lingered a moment, surveying the room, and then turned and exited through the door to his office.

It was only as the door closed behind him that Harry felt his magic recede. Any effort she was putting into packing came to a halt.

She’d perceived the immediate aura around him, that sour, wasted husk. And she’d been _wrong._ Not a sickly candle at all, but the towering shadows it cast.

His power. She’d been sitting inside his magic for the entire class.

She noticed not because of anything it did, but because of its absence. Like having his hands on her, unseen, unfelt, perceived only when he stopped _doing it._

He’d been touching her with his magic, just like Snape had, and she hadn’t even felt it.

XXX

Harry’s classmates scattered as they left DADA, already forming groups with friends and acquaintances. Most were talking about how strange Quirrel was, or about how lackluster the lesson had been.

Every doubt she’d had redoubled. What did it mean? What did he want? Was this something wizards just did, and she didn’t know because it was a different culture? Maybe it was innocuous and she was just overthinking it?

But it hadn’t _felt_ innocuous.

Harry turned and was just heading down a hallway to the south when someone called out to her. There was nothing in her day until Astronomy at midnight. A free period in which she could get her head in order, and maybe hit the library and figure out what Quirrel was doing.

“Hey, Riddle!”

Turpin jogged up, MacDougel trailing a few steps behind her.

“We’re going to explore for the best way up to the Astronomy Tower. Li’s coming. You wanna come too?”

Harry’s steps faltered.

Li was there as well, lingering by a wall sconce. Patil joined her a moment later. Harry expected Fawcett to appear, but she didn’t.

“Um. I was going to get a start on the homework,” Harry said.

“Oh. Alright.” Turpin shot her a grin- she was missing a baby tooth in front. “Maybe you can swap homework tips with us for directions?”

Harry shrugged. “Sounds okay.”

Still beaming, Turpin hooked an elbow around MacDougel’s, and they both ran back to join the other two girls. They were carried along in her wake like leaves in a wind.

Harry stood and stared, watching as her classmates vanished down the hall. 

XXX 

It had been an easy lie to tell.

They didn’t really _have_ any homework except for Quirrel’s and McGonagall’s. The first class sessions had been almost entirely reviewing the syllabi.

She began walking. Aimlessly at first, then trying to navigate down to the Entrance Hall so she could go outside.

It was just so… stupid. Frustrating.

Turning down the opportunity to make friends with her closest classmates.Years and years of wishing someone would just pay attention to her, and now that someone did, she just wanted to get away.

But she desperately needed some quiet. Hogwarts was so crowded, full of talk and noise and chaos. And there were too many unanswered questions. Too much going on.

She needed some time to sit and just _be_. Time where she wasn’t agonizing over what magic she had to learn, or what the other girls might be like. Time to put things in order and parse out everything that had happened over the past couple days.

Trevor. Blackscale. Neville and Ron.

Quirrel.

XXX 

God, her skin wouldn’t stop crawling. What had he even been doing? Had no one else noticed? Or was it just her? Or...maybe she’d been the only one.

This didn’t feel like being famous. It felt like being singled out. Watched.

Stalked. 

XXX

She got lost again.

The Entrance Hall was like a desert mirage. Half-glimpsed one moment, then non-existent when she thought she was finally getting there. How was anyone ever supposed to get to class on time when Hogwart’s layout seemed to change on the hour?

It was sheer dumb luck that found her in a corridor she recognized. 

XXX

The third floor hallway was blessedly silent after a day spent among hundreds.

Harry skittered around the final corner, peered back to check for anyone who might see, and then crossed the hallway to Fluffy’s door.

The cerberus rose, unfolding when she entered, his lips drawing back, hot breath stinging her face.

Harry gulped. “H-hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy-warty Hogwarts!” Her singing was reedy and badly off key, but it was enough to make the dog falter.

He blinked dully for a moment before the tension left his muzzles and he relaxed. The thick stub of his tail began to wag.

Harry let him smell her hand. “Remember me? I’m Hagrid’s friend.”

All three heads were panting happily. He crouched, lowering himself back down to the floor, and began nudging her with his nose, seeming to probe for treats.

“Don’t have anything, sorry.”

A tentative pat on his snout.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?”

The head on her right gave what she was a doggy grin.

Harry flopped down against Fluffy’s ribs. She could hear his heart, a deep kettledrum against her back.

“Thought you might be bored, shut up in here all day. And…there’s nothing wrong if you’re not. I’m not bugging you, am I?”

Fluffy didn’t voice any objections, so Harry took that as a negative.

His room was tall, the windows set near the very top. Meant to be out of his reach, probably. Or so no one could see him. But he couldn’t see out. A dog who couldn’t see the sun or go outside. A dog who couldn’t be a dog.

“Why are you even in here?” she whispered.

Was he a prisoner? Because that was what it felt like. Like this was just another cupboard.

Fluffy licked her arm- his tongue wide enough to span fingertip to elbow. Harry gave her dripping hand a grimace, and then lifted it to allow him to keep licking. It wasn’t like she could get any more drenched with slobber than she already was.

She leaned back, pillowed by his fur.

A few strands had stuck to her robes. She plucked them away and held them up with her spit-less hand.

They were charcoal black.

“How would you look in pink?”

It took a lot of focus to get her magic moving without drawing her wand, and then four tries before she got the hairs to change color rather than burn. The stink of singed hair made Fluffy chuff and sneeze.

XXX 

There wasn’t any light coming in through the windows by the time Harry could make Fluffy’s hairs reliably change color.

All the magic had made her tired. The urge to simply lay back and sleep against his furry warmth was magnetic. If she did, she’d probably miss dinner. And Astronomy.

She waved goodbye to him before slipping out the door.

The torches outside Fluffy’s door were unlit, the hallway cavernous and dark.

Harry tiptoed toward the stairs. She knew the way down from here- Hagrid had shown her yesterday. As long as it hadn’t changed…

The hall intersected another up ahead, this one lit and inviting. One of the revolving staircases was just beyond.

A hand landed on her shoulder.

Pale and long-fingered. Something jerked in her gut at the sight- and then she looked up to see who had caught her. The sense of unease became something more. Like she’d swallowed an eel.

“M-miss Riddle. Y-you are out of b-bounds.” His grip tightened. “D-detention.”

XXX

They took a shortcut. Two taps on an unmarked brick, and a mirror at the end of a corridor slid open. A flight of steps down.

Second floor.

Harry didn’t know where Quirrel’s office was- his classroom had been on this floor, but they didn’t seem to be heading in that direction. Quirrel wasn’t looking at her. He just walked briskly on, taking turns and stairways with unerring confidence.

It was like Hogwarts was rearranging itself for him. Like he knew all the work-arounds and cheats, and the castle _recognized_ that. 

XXX 

Whatever she’d expected his office to be, the plain room jammed in the corner of the second floor wasn’t it. There were books, many books, but most were still in boxes or stacked in the corner like he hadn’t had time to unpack yet.

But there were no personal effects. No pictures of friends or family. No knickknacks on his desk. Just a yawningly empty room that felt no more full for having them in it.

Quirrel sat down behind his desk, gesturing for her to take the seat in front of it.

She sat.

When Harry looked up, the man sitting behind the desk had changed.

It was still Professor Quirrel, but it was also not. He was different. Something quiet, yet palpable in the straightness of his back, and the casual ease in which those long-fingered hands tented on a stack of papers. There was no aura this time. Just a vague, gut-feeling of what it could be. Like his magic was lurking just out of sight, but still perceived, in the way you could smell rain before it came.

Her scar itched.

Something in her magic was beginning to churn, turning circles around her bones. Her heart was still pattering, birdlike, and the familiar sinking sensation of being in trouble was lurking around her gut.

Quirrel’s lips formed a thin smile. “As this is only your first day of class, I think we can dispense with the usual detention topics. And I’ve never seen a use in busy work. This will be… a teaching detention. A learning opportunity for us both.”

“Oh. Thank you, sir,” Harry mumbled, not sure if she was saying it or asking it.

“I understand that you’re fond of snakes,” Quirrel said. Harry stiffened in her seat, but he gave no reaction. “How would you like to learn a spell for snakes?”

He lifted a finger. Just one. “ _Serpensortia._ ”

A weight left her shoulders.

Blackscale dropped into Quirrel’s palm, writhing madly, hissing furiously.

 _“_ _What is this- I do not- release me or I will bite!”_

Harry lunged forward. “No! Don’t!”

Quirrel was still wearing a cool smile. He turned it on the adder in his hand.

 _“_ _That’s quite enough, Blackscale.”_

XXX 

“You- you speak parseltongue, Professor?”

“I do. Something I picked up in my travels. It has its uses, as I’m sure you can attest.”

Quirrel passed Blackscale back to her. Harry took him with numb hands, returning him to around her neck. Blackscale no longer hung limply; he was coiled now, attentive to the wizard in the room.

“Now, Harry, how would you like to summon snakes as well? It normally picks the closest living serpent, but with a bit of practice, you’ll be able to leave your familiar alone.”

It was a tempting proposal. But it wasn’t really a choice was it?

Not because this was detention, but because Quirrel’s smile was plastic and fake, and she couldn’t forget the way his magic had enveloped her before.

Harry nodded slowly. “Alright, sir.”

XXX 

“Hold your wand a bit higher. The motion is- close. Right there. An S-shape. Childish, I know, but it was designed to be idiot-proof. Do that five times or so. Until you’ve got the feel for it.”

Quirrel circled her. He was walking and talking once again, but it was all around her this time. Every time he moved, passing out of her sight, Harry tightened up. It was involuntary. Tensing for a blow that had yet to come.

“Long curve at the top of the S. Better. Start over. Now, focus. The intent is the important part. The wand motion is just window dressing.”

Harry looked up, eyes wide, her terror momentarily broken. “I’d been wondering that.”

“Most wizards are simply too incompetent for anything more than the very basics.” Quirrel’s eyes glittered, catching the torchlight as he turned to speak to her. “All that truly matters is intent and power. That is why magic is the purest strength there is.”

A pause.

“Cast now. Show me your strength.”

When she moved, it was not for him. Quirrel was right- magic was strength, but her magic was _hers._ Not his. Not the Dursleys. Not all the people who adored her for something her wasn’t.

Letting him have that would be handing over the one thing that was truly hers in this world.

_No._

Harry drew the sign in the air, using her wand like a conductor’s baton. Her magic welled up within, surging like white fire, hot enough she thought her breath would ripple in the air, and vast enough there was a sudden flash of fear- a mortal body couldn’t hold this in.

She needed a snake. A snake that wasn’t Blackscale. The snake needed to be here. Right here. Right _now. Right now. She needed. She WANTED._

_“Serpensortia!”_

XXX

A tiny, green grass snake wound between her fingers, tongue flicking out to kiss her fingertips.

Quirrel held out his hand for it. Harry hesitated for a moment before letting the serpent slide from her palm to his.

“Most children wouldn’t be able to cast that so quickly.”

“Is she going to be okay?” Harry asked, indicating the grass snake.

Quirrel raised an eyebrow. “I will return her to where she came from. The spell for that is, oddly enough, more advanced.”

“Oh.”

He snapped his fingers and with a _pop_ , the grass snake vanished. “Would you like to learn it?”

She went still.

This had been detention. She’d had to be here. But any more would be on her own.

With him.

Quirrel was still an unknown quantity. He went out of his way to teach her an _incredible_ spell, but also did things with his magic, and the way his personality had shifted was downright eerie.

She knew nothing about him, and he seemed to know everything about her.

He was a parselmouth too- and wasn’t that supposed to be really rare? And genetic, not learned? Padma had said that. She needed to talk to Blackscale about this.

“Why? Why- all of this?” she said, surprising herself with her sudden directness.

For the first time, something genuine crept into his smile. “I enjoy teaching. And you seem to be a more apt pupil than most of your peers.” Quirrel turned and began walking to his desk. “If you have misgivings, feel free to think on them. If you would like to return… I have office hours every day from three to six.”

He shuffled through a few of the pages before looking up at her. “You may leave at any time.”

“Oh. Ah- goodnight, Professor.”

Harry grabbed her bag, pocketed her wand, and made for the door.

“Miss Riddle.”

His voice stopped her with her hand on the knob.

“You wear the name well.”

XXX


	7. 7

Time rolled onward.

Some days were blindingly fast, gone so quickly they were memories before the ink had even dried. Others were glacial, dragging on for a week before limping on their way.

On Privet Drive, time had held no meaning. There was simply school, then summer, the days repeating in an endless loop. No change, no memories of a time before the Dursleys, and no real concept of the future beyond a fervent hope to leave them behind.

Blackscale had broken that cycle, and Harry had slowly begun filling her days with him and magic. And then Hogwarts had come along and packed her days full to bursting. Morning, noon, and night, every second packed with some new facet of witchcraft.

It was all very tiring.

Exciting, yes, but tiring.

But all the while, she grew. Shedding scales, one or two at a time. Leaving behind Harry Potter and slowly growing into Harry Riddle’s skin.

XXX

September 7th

“I brought this back. Sorry for taking so long. I- didn’t know how the laundry worked here.”

Hagrid chuckled. “Never be afraid to ask the ‘ouse elves for a hand.” He took the now clean floral handkerchief she was proffering. “Sorta suits yer, doesn’ it?”

Harry tilted her head, not understanding. Hagrid flipped open the kerchief, exposing the full expanse of pattern, flowers rampant on the black cloth, and then began folding. He fiddled for a couple moments, reducing it to a long band about an inch thick.

“’ere you go. Tie yer hair back with it.” Hagrid handed it back. “Yer got yer dad’s hair. He usually kept it short though, so this didn’ happen.”

He knelt, and Harry leaned forward to let him fasten the cloth round her head. Hagrid’s fingers were as thick as her wrist, but he moved like she was made of porcelain, tying the bandanna with the same careful notions she might use to thread a needle.

“’ow’s that feel?”

Harry tugged at it a bit, adjusting her tangled ponytail to sit better in the wrap. The cloth had ended up running over the top of her head, just above her bangs, with the tie at the base of her neck. It didn’t really contain her ponytail at all, but it put pressure on her bangs, holding them down just a little.

It made seeing her scar that much harder.

“I love it, Hagrid.”

The giant man grinned. “Hoped yer would. Now, tell me about yer firs’ week.”

XXX

September 10th

Snape plucked her essay on alternative ingredients from her hand. She hovered before his desk, shifting from foot to foot while he looked it over, dark eyes scanning the parchment.

“Passable.”

When he looked up, she avoided his gaze, staring resolutely at the center of his forehead.

“You’ll be working alone. Take your cauldron and supplies and move to that table.” Snape pointed. “Do not entertain any bright ideas of getting your classmates onto this… school of thought. My tolerance for your foolishness only extends so far.”

Harry managed a just-barely-sincere smile for him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Get to work, Riddle.”

XXX

September 12th

Classes quickly fell into a rhythm. Subjects were taught, and the professors continued largely in the same vein they had begun on the first day.

Even Quirrel.

Harry had expected there to be some sort of change in him, some flash of the side he’d shown her in detention, but there was none. Stuttering, frightened-of-his-own-shadow Professor Quirrel stumbled through his lessons, gave homework, and then left.

He wasn’t looking at her anymore. And his magic hadn’t so much as brushed her.

The more time that passed, the more Harry wondered if she hadn’t simply imagined some of his competence that night. That Quirrel was just too far-removed from the shivering coward who taught Defense.

But none of that was an answer to what he wanted from her.

XXX

September 13th

“Wait, so the soil type matters too?”

Neville nodded. “The nutrients and minerals in the soil are- ah- really important?” He poked a finger into the clayish dirt they were using to repot wickerweeds. “Some plants grow better with certain soil. I actually have to _salt_ one of the pots back home to get this one flower to grow.”

“Wow.” Harry dug a little deeper into her pot, eyed Neville’s already repotted weed for comparison, and dug some more. “You grow stuff like this at home?”

Something flickered behind Neville’s eyes, like a door closing. He looked away. “Sort of. Yeah.”

Harry froze, staring. What had she said? Something heavy lurched against her insides at the unhappy look now crossing Neville’s face.

“Sorry?”

“It’s nothing.” Neville gave her a weak, crooked smile. “Just- Gran doesn’t approve of my greenhouse. She thinks plants are a dud subject.”

Her lip curled. That was a very Dursley-ish view. If Neville’s gran was anything like them, then it was no wonder he was so nervous.

“Magic,” Harry said, putting down her trowel, “Doesn’t have any _dud_ subjects.”

“Except divination,” Ron interjected.

Harry ignored him. “Herbology is incredible. And your grandmother is wrong.”

“I didn’t say I agreed with her,” Neville said. He was working a discarded leaf between his fingers, worrying the little scrap of plant until it frayed. “But it’s not that amazing, you know?”

And she knew this song and dance.

(‘No, Dudley is very gifted, he’s just not good at History. Daft subject. Taught by Marxists, probably.’)

She had hated it then, and hearing Neville repeat it was infuriating.

Words burst forth before she could stop them. “No. Wickerweeds can cure gout. And they’re good for feeding sick livestock. Or dyeing your hair green. They’re neat. Your grandma is wrong, and just- just because she’s your _family doesn’t mean she’s right!_ ”

Ron cleared his throat, and Harry realized she’d not only just vented all over Neville, but snarled that last bit in parseltongue. The entire greenhouse was looking at her.

She blinked, her face heating. “It’s- um. Yeah.” And they were still staring. Was there a spell to turn invisible?

“Right you are, Miss Riddle.” An earth-stained hand came down to pat her head. Professor Sprout beamed at her. “Five points to Ravenclaw for knowing the properties of wickerweed. And for inter-house solidarity.”

And when Sprout trundled on to see how Ron and Su were doing on their wickerweeds, Neville leaned over. He spread the hole in her pot with two fingers, lifted the cutting, and then repotted it with a few, easy motions.

The bashful smile he directed at her after was enough to make her forget any embarrassment. Well, any from the class. Neither of them could quite manage to look at each other for the rest of the period.

XXX

September 15th

Their first flying lesson was chaotic. Four classes worth of excited eleven-year olds, all champing at the bit to take off. Harry, still a little dubious on the idea of flight, just did her best to listen to Hooch. She got her broom to jump to her hand when called. Hooch discussed grips, then came around and corrected everyone.

“Forward, Riddle. Up closer to the middle.”

And then Neville blasted off like a rocket.

He rose, yelling, his broomstick whirling, and then toppled, falling even faster than he’d gone up.

The noise when he impacted the ground was a terrible _whumph_ of displaced air and his own gasp of pain.

Harry shrieked.

Her broom hit the dirt, and she ran to Neville. Hooch was shooing her away, but Harry ignored her, her eyes glued to Neville’s blotchy, tear-stained face. Ron was right behind her, yelling something.

They stuck to his side until he made it safely to the hospital wing.

So what if Madame Pomfrey could fix a broken wrist in a few minutes? It didn’t change the fact that it could have just as easily been a broken neck. He never would have made it to the nurse.

Pomfrey finally threw Harry and Ron out when it came time to give Neville a couple potions to finalize the process.

“He needs a bit of rest, Miss Riddle. He’ll be along in time for dinner.”

Harry sank down against the wall outside, knees to her chest, hands wrapped around Blackscale like a lifeline. The suspicion- the thoughts that Pomfrey had kicked them out not to heal Neville, but because he was actually dying, were overpowering.

“Harry. Harry, it’s okay.” Ron knelt beside her. He made to speak a couple times, but stopped, seeming to rethink what he was going to say. “It’s- look, he’ll be fine. My brothers have all gone to Hogwarts, and- and they all got hurt, but Madame Pomfrey always fixed it.”

Carefully, and a little clumsily, he tugged at her wrist. “C’mon. We’ll go… play chess or something.”

She nodded slowly. “’kay.” A pause, Blackscale shifting around her throat to whisper calming words in her ear. She wanted to be alone more than anything, to be able to think through what had happened, but even so, she allowed Ron to pull her along.

He led them up and up, to the portrait she’d first met him exiting out of with Neville.

The Gryffindor common room was warm and cozy, if a bit dark and stuffy compared to Ravenclaw.

Ron set up a chess set by the fire. They made it through the first five minutes before he realized she had no idea how to play and had to stop and show her. Learning the game, having that to focus on, was enough.

Her racing heart slowed.

Harry hadn’t quite grasped chess by the time Neville limped in through the portrait hole.

His wrist was fine. _He_ was fine.

But the memory of him rising precariously, and then falling, his hands clutching at nothing, would burn itself into her nightmares that evening.

XXX

September 16th

“Episkey!”

“Episkey!”

Harry paused to catch her breath for a moment, lowering her wand to study the textbook she had propped open on her bed. The spell was supposed to heal minor wounds, but the gestures it used changed depending on what exactly that injury was. A broken wrist, for example, would usually take two parallel jabs, to symbolize the radius and ulna, and then a sort of wrapping motion, to mimic binding the wrist to keep it stiff. Fixing a nosebleed using the same exact spell would use a completely different motion.

And _that_ was bloody aggravating.

Episkey wasn’t like Alohamora, where it could be reduced to a lesser motion if you had enough intent. The textbook was very clear on that. The motions for Episkey- and apparently most other healing spells, were so complex because they needed to be. Unless Harry had an encyclopedic knowledge of anatomy, trying to cheat the motion and overpower it with intent would more than likely make it worse, because her magic would try to fill in the gaps in her knowledge without knowing how. Fixing a broken wrist by sewing the bone together with blood vessels, and other, disturbingly graphic examples.

The full motion for bruises had taken her over an hour to get working reliably, and she’d moved on to healing the myriad of smaller cuts she had. That one was only working maybe one time in five. She was never going to remember all these stupid wand movements. She’d been trying to learn one spell a day so far, and there were just too many little variables to keep them straight, let alone memorize the… eighty-seven variants of Episkey listed in her book.

How was anyone supposed to heal anything? If Neville got hurt again, was she supposed to just consult her five page glossary of Episkey forms?

With a sigh, she lifted her wand and began practicing again.

Quirrel had summoned Blackscale with a twitch of a finger. He probably hadn’t even needed to say the spell- he just did it to demonstrate. So what made him different?

“Episkey!”

The scab on her knee from walking into a desk remained a scab.

Harry sagged. She needed help.

Pomfrey had been a regular battleaxe. And who else was there? Snape was a creep, and she didn’t know Flitwick or McGonagall well enough to ask them for a favor. The older students in her house seemed to help out lower years sometimes, but there was always a trade. She had nothing to offer. Hagrid… perhaps. But she couldn’t imagine him memorizing the minutiae of spells.

And that left Quirrel.

“Episkey!”

The motion for cuts was at least simple: a flat sweep, literally smearing flesh back together. She gritted her teeth, concentrating on what she needed. Flesh knitting shut. Wounds closing. Her cut healing. “ _Episkey!_ ”

The scab itched terribly for a moment, and then began bleeding.

“Ow, ow, ouch!”

Somewhere in the rush of hobbling to the bathroom and staunching her leg with toilet tissue, Harry made a decision.

She wouldn’t ask Quirrel unless she absolutely had to.

XXX

September 19th

Riding on Hagrid’s shoulders was always a little amazing. The chance to get an idea of what he saw every day, head and shoulders above everyone else. Not just taller, but _bigger_ in every sense, like everything in the world was built for children. Only his cabin, which Harry was sure Hagrid had made himself, was sized correctly.

She’d left her bag there, and Hagrid had hoisted her up and made his way into the forest. Harry was grinning as he went.

Finally, a chance to see what was so forbidden about this place.

“We’re not goin’ too far in. Jus’ wanted you to meet a coupla creatures. Not a lotta kids get to see the ‘em unless they take Care until OWL year.”

“Creatures? What kind?” Fluffy had been a little intimidating at first, and she was still wary of getting in trouble for sneaking in to see him, but Harry had still spent a goodly number of hours just sitting and talking to the big dog. If this was another Fluffy… she was going to have a make a schedule for cuddling.

“You’ll see.”

Hagrid clumped along for another five-hundred feet or so, humming tunelessly as he went. Harry, nearly fifteen feet in the air, mostly just bent low and tried not to get caught in any hanging branches or vines. One scraped her cheek and she hissed.

The idea of pointing a wand at her face was unsettling. Instead, she pressed two fingers to the scratch and drew them across, concentrating with all her might on what she wanted. “Episkey!”

It _worked_. Somehow.

The skin knitted, tingling coolly, her magic weaving through, purging then sealing the cut.

Harry squealed with surprise and joy, and nearly toppled off Hagrid’s shoulders. He shifted slightly.

“Yer alright up there?”

“Peachy!” Harry rubbed her cheek. Perfectly smooth. “Oh, Hagrid, I just remembered. Do you know anything about healing spells?”

The big man rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Nope. Not much in the forest that can really hurt me. Yer thinking of becoming a healer, Harry?”

“Just thought it’d be useful.”

“I do know a coupla handy plants. Show ‘em to yer when we get back to the cabin.”

The trees opened ahead of them. Hagrid emerged from under the canopy into a small clearing. Tall grass and weeds carpeted it, interspersed with a few, smaller trees that had yet to grow tall enough to block the sun.

And on the far side were three creatures Harry had never imagined she’d see.

“Unicorns,” Hagrid said proudly.

He lowered her, and Harry staggered to a halt.

They were too beautiful to be real. A tall male, and two smaller foals. The male had raised his head to look at them, his twisting, pearlescent horn reflecting the light like a prism. He had a small, tufted beard and cloven hooves like a goat, but his coat and mane were pure white, so bright and clean that they made the sunlight look dull.

And their magic. Oh, their _magic._ Light wasn’t a comprehensive enough word for what their magic was. It was radiant, trailing after them in a haze, everywhere they went just a little _brighter._ It was warm. Gentle. Calm and inviting, true grace and serenity.

Their magic was more insubstantial than wizards’, a loose radius where their magic suffused the world. A circle of light and wonder. Her own magic was drawing away, shying from that sphere, drawing back where they made contact, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from taking a few steps forward.

This is what religions must have had in mind when they talked about divinity.

The unicorns were divine.

“Go on then,” Hagrid said, his voice a happy whisper. “They don’t like men much, but they know me, and they don’t have a problem with girls. Let em’ come see yer.”

Harry took a few steps more, and then stopped in the center of the clearing.

The stallion huffed, padding toward her. The foals stayed back, cautious, seeming to wait for the okay. His aura was palpable now, peeling the edges of her magic away paper in a fire. It _hurt._ Why? He was so glorious, but just being this close was painful.

The unicorn took another step forward, crushing clover beneath his hoof.

Harry faltered, a small gasp escaping her. It was like being sunburnt from the inside, but she couldn’t move away- couldn’t leave without meeting him. Slowly, she approached to just outside arm’s length of him. Her hand rose, palm up, a gesture of openness.

The unicorn was an unmoving statue in marble, his deep, brown eyes on her.

Stretching her fingers out to try and touch him was like reaching into an oven. There was heat inside her, her magic writhing in protest.

She pushed a couple inches more.

And then it was more than pain. There was a feeling. A sense of _disdain._ A sudden awareness of herself in comparison to him. He was light given flesh, and she was a sweaty, itching, _mass_ of imperfection, her magic that of a bug under a rock, so low and foul that it burned in his very presence.

She was unworthy, and they both knew it.

He turned, snorted, and then stalked away. The foals moved before he did, vanishing into the undergrowth. And then he too was gone, the last silken strands of his tail disappearing with a flick.

Harry shivered, shaking her head. The burning faded moment by moment, the sense of insignificance going with it.

Hagrid’s heavy footsteps moved up behind. He joined her at the center of the clearing.

“That’s- that weren’t yer fault, ‘Arry. They’re temperamental. Got ‘em on a bad day, I guess. Nothing yer did.”

But his tone, hurt and confusion, said otherwise.

XXX

September 20th 

The skin on her palm was tender the next day. Not overtly painful, but sensitive and red, the fingers stiff. Harry twitched and moved them absently, staring at her hand, thoughts on the unicorns.

Regardless of what Hagrid said, what had happened had been something she did. He’d expected the unicorns to like her. Instead, their presence burned her like… The image that came to mind was an old one. Dudley staying up late one night to catch a horror movie that his mother would never let him watch if she knew. Some schlocky 70’s vampire film, full of blood and gore.

And those scenes of vampires writhing and hissing, their skin steaming in the morning sun, were the closest analogue she could think of to describe what she’d felt.

And why was that?

The unicorns were inherently good beings. So why had approaching them burned her?

Was… was there something wrong with her?

Because there had been _something_ wrong there, and it hadn’t been them. It had been her, Harry, whose flesh and soul cried out at the presence of pure and wonderful unicorns.

It was an old feeling resurrected. A surety that she had done something wrong, but didn’t know what. A reminder of every time she’d been punished back in Surrey. There had always been guilt and confusion then, but they’d never been as _real_ as this.

There was evidence for it now. Real, witnessed with her own eyes, evidence.

Did…

Or if…

Her thoughts spiraled off, growing deeper and darker with every go.

Harry pulled the blanket over her head. She felt too nauseous for breakfast.

XXX

She was still picking at her palm when Defense ended.

“F-finish the assigned r-reading, and answer the q-questions I passed out. D-due Friday.” Quirrel did his usual clap for dismissal. He was already turning to leave when Harry caught up with him.

“Wait! Er- Professor, please, just a quick question.”

“Miss R-riddle.” Quirrel’s quavering smile was so different from the one he’d given her in detention that she almost backed away. “I’m af-fraid you caught me at a b-bad time. Staff m-meeting in a few m-minutes. Additionally, I w-will be caught up with personal b-business for m-most of this month. No o-office hours for a while.”

She gaped at him. This was her last chance for weeks.

Quirrel was just beginning to move away again, and she followed, trailing him to the door. Despite his impatience, he paused there and waited until the rest of the class had departed before giving her his attention.

“I s-suppose I can make t-time for you. Now, w-what did you w-want?”

“Sir, please. I just need to know- why would unicorns dislike someone?”

He looked down at her, staring through his lashes, smile still playing across his face. “An o-odd q-question, Miss R-riddle. Unicorns tr-traditionally f-flee from the impure. M-most often, non-virgins, y-you know what that m-means?” Harry nodded, feeling her cheeks glow. “And of c-course, from dark w-witches and wizards.” Quirrel chuckled at that. “N-nothing you need to worry about.”

“But sir-!”

A wave of his hand cut her off.

“Now, now, Harry.” Quirrel bent. His mouth neared her ear. _“I will have office hours again in_ _three_ _weeks,_ _but I’ll be quite busy until then._ _Though… I suppose I could look into your problem if you help me with a few of mine._ _”_ His voice was smoother in parseltongue, more in tune with the sinuous slide of his magic. She was so focused on the sound and his proximity that it took a moment for the words to sink in.

Quirrel straightened, his hand dipping into a pocket. It returned holding a small, gray-white egg. He held it out to her, and Harry numbly raised her hands to take it. The egg was about as long as her thumb, more oblong than ovular, and the shell was a little _soft_.

 _“A snake egg,”_ Blackscale interjected, having surfaced to listen to the parseltongue.

 _“Yes,”_ Quirrel said. _“It was to be a project of mine, but I can’t devote the time at present. Take care of it for me._ _You know the warming charm? It-”_ There was a clatter of footsteps. Students had just rounded the corner, laughing and chattering. A grimace passed across Quirrel’s face before he continued in English. “Keep the egg safe and warm. It is bound to hatch soon.”

Harry opened her mouth to agree- she had no reason not to, and it was an amazing responsibility. Moreover, if she did this, he would be more amenable to talk to her.

 _“I will watch over it.”_ Blackscale stretched down, nosing at the shell.

 _“You will?”_ Harry said, blinking at his initiative. Didn’t he mostly just eat eggs?

_“The Ouroboros wishes it.”_

The phrasing was familiar. He’d said something similar about the layered room on the seventh floor. And he’d meant Quirrel?

Quirrel chuckled. “How apropos. I’m sure you will not disappoint me, Miss Riddle, Blackscale.”

His hand rose, then came down. Gentle, but firm, resting on her shoulder. Harry’s tongue stilled, suddenly dumb, her full attention on the weight of his hand. Something lurched insider her, shivering at the root of her spine, and the base of her teeth. Like all her bones suddenly _ached_ to lean into the contact.

His magic pressed against hers, a brush like feathers, passing her by. Her own power drawn along in its wake, iron fillings behind a magnet.

There were students passing them, their noise filling the hallway, but they might as well have been in another world.

 _“_ _Feed your magic into the egg. Just a little every night. Do this and I will tell you about the unicorns.”_

He pulled away. His hand left her.

His magic was already gone.

XXX

Her room was dim. A single candle beside Neville’s Snake Vine, and the cloudy moonlight through her east window.

Harry sat, sleepshirt pooling around her. She’d made a nest of blankets for the egg, though it had taken some frantic practice of the warming charm to get it satisfactorily toasty. The spell was one she’d been meaning to learn, and Quirrel’s project had given her all the impetus she needed.

One finger stretched out to press against the egg’s leather shell.

Harry drew on the barest trickle, the meanest, tiniest hair of her power. There had been too many explosions, too many twigs and leaves bursting into flame during her practice to overdue this.

It was a task a wand might be better for, but she still couldn’t quite trust the tool. It just felt… artificial. Feeding the egg was an act of nature. It needed to be natural.

Magic flowed. The sedate warmth she associated with her power pooled in her wrist, her hand, her index.

She opened the link.

And gasped.

The egg soaked up her magic like water on sand. Something inside- the snakeling, or maybe some of the creature’s magic, was resonating, a tiny, sliding, theremin of a sound.

Harry pushed more. And slowly, the egg began to fill. Any worries of how much or when to stop faded.

Little by little.

Just as her power was cresting, about to reach the brim of the egg, the resonance increased.

_Bub-bub. Bub-bub. Bub-bub._

Something akin to the liquid light filling the egg bloomed in Harry’s chest.

She was hearing its heartbeat.

The egg filled, and reluctantly, Harry drew away, the link breaking off. The tender skin on her palm was throbbing, but it was different now. A good soreness, like exertion after a run.

Blackscale slid out of the darkness to coil around the egg. His amber eyes rested beside the shell, and he hissed approvingly.

 _“_ _Hey,”_ Harry said, whispering in spite of them being alone in the room. _“You told Quirrel you’d watch the egg because he’s… an orberos? What does that mean?”_

Silence, their shadows dancing in the candlelight.

Blackscale blinked slowly. _“The Ouroboros. The snake of infinity.”_ The tip of his tail twitched, settling a little closer to his coils. _“Do you not know your own sire?”_

She stared at him for a long moment, speechless. And then she began explaining all the reasons that was impossible. First and foremost was that Quirrel was almost certainly not old enough. Secondly was that she’d been informed numerous times by her relatives how damningly she resembled her father. Thirdly, it was Quirrel! Stuttering, weird Quirrel.

Who was a parselmouth, when being a parselmouth was hereditary. And whose magic pulled at her, that _drew_ her. Who seemed to know more about her than she did.

“Impossible.” Saying it aloud didn’t stop the hairs on the back of her neck from rising.

Blackscale just coiled a little tighter and said no more.

XXX

September 21st

If she’d thought having the egg would change anything, she didn’t expect it to change what it did. Blackscale hadn’t left the nest except to hunt, and then it was back to guard-duty.

It didn’t make sense- he’d been quite clear about his enjoyment of poaching eggs from other creatures’ nests to eat, but Quirrel made a request and suddenly he was on board? And all due to some nonsense about Ouroboros-this and Ouroboros-that.

Harry wasn’t angry at him. Just… she missed him. They’d barely been apart since she came to Hogwarts, he hunted alone, and she certainly didn’t shower with him, but they spent the majority of the day together.

She got up and went to class, but there was no familiar weight at her neck. No warmth. She felt oddly naked and vulnerable, like his scales had protected her as well.

History of Magic was infinitely more boring when she couldn’t read ahead in the text and make observations about it to him. Blackscale would respond with something scathing, and Harry would have to stifle her giggles.

Funny how a lifetime alone could lose its luster after a month of cuddling a reptile.

XXX

An older boy approached her as she was leaving Transfiguration. He was Slytherin, not quite an adult yet, but old enough to tower over her. She didn’t know his name- most of the upperclassmen were too intimidating to really interact with.

“I was wondering,” the boy said. “You can speak to snakes, correct? Parseltongue and all that.”

“I can.”

“Nice!” The boy glanced around before leaning closer. “I’m trying to get on over on my friend. There’s a couple galleons in it for you if you could- maybe make your snake pretend to bite him?”

The oily smile the boy gave her put the slang about slimy, snaky Slytherin to shame.

“No.”

“But- okay, five galleons.”

Harry glared. “I said no.”

Before he could say more, Harry slipped around him and took off running. He yelled, but she didn’t hear him come after her. She bounced between other students, barely navigating the stairs down, and didn’t stop running until there were three floors between them.

Fear and revulsion had become full-blown anger by the time she got to Charms.

He’d been trying to buy her. Trying to _use_ her in his stupid little games. As though the gift that gave her her first friend was just a novelty to be goggled and gaped at.

Like a freak.

And Blackscale hadn’t been there. He would have hissed at the boy and scared the hell out of him.

She was mad at him now, but she was more angry at herself. One little confrontation and she defaulted back to the scared little girl running from bullies.

Her quill smoldered in her clenched fist, dry of any ink.

She took no notes that day.

XXX

September 26th

There were others who approached her. More thrill-seekers, trying to catch a glimpse of an oddity, or trying to buy her time or favor for their own uses. Most were just curious about her ability though.

Harry demonstrated for the first, earnest few, the ones who were genuine in their interest, but by the tenth, she was refusing. It felt too much like being a show-dog. There just to pop off her tricks and then back to the kennel.

The one exception after that was Clearwater. The older girl was doing an essay on magical languages and wanted Harry’s insight. That had been a fascinating conversation, where Clearwater posed all sorts of questions that Harry either hadn’t thought of, or didn’t know the answer to. She initially relayed them to Blackscale, and then translated his replies, but the adder found the back and forth so annoying that he quickly became snippy and crawled under the bed.

So Harry had to make due on her own. Did parseltongue add human meaning or emotion to words where a snake was not capable of giving them, or was it approximating? Further, did it outright enhance serpent intelligence, because snakes weren’t capable of conversation on their own, or was adjusting the level of conversation to be understandable by each participant something the magic did? According to Blackscale, snakes simply didn’t need to talk normally. And that was another twenty minutes of conversational detour, because how did parseltongue even work to begin with since snakes could barely hear?

The discussion lasted long enough that Harry was nearly late for Astronomy. But in return, the Clearwater corrected a couple of the gestures Harry was using to simplify her spells, and then wrote her a pass just in case.

Harry left the prefect with a smile, and an invitation to return if she ever had any more questions.

XXX

September 29th

“Where’s your buddy?”

Harry looked up from her History notes. “Sorry?”

Su, whose paper was mostly covered in elaborate doodles, pointed to Harry’s neck. “Your snake.”

“Oh. He’s… up in our room. Doing snake things.”

“Cool. You wanna play hangman?”

XXX

That was the start of it. She played hangman with Su during History, getting stumped when the other girl started using movie titles as entries, and time flew by at a rate unheard of with Binns.

In Transfiguration, she paid attention to where she sat, and ended up having a debate with Padma over how they thought animal transfiguration worked. (McGonagall, who seemed to appreciate a healthy discussion, gave them both five points and extra homework).

Herbology was much the same. She talked and worked alongside Neville, with Ron pairing with a boy named Finnigan. And Harry paid attention.

She was never inattentive, but there was a new, daring feeling to it today. There was no Blackscale, no proverbial safety net for her to talk to if no one else wanted to. Without Blackscale, the people around her seemed easier, more willing to relax without their ridiculous fears of deadly vipers.

So she talked to her classmates, they talked back, and it was all very… very nice, actually.

XXX

October 5th

“So you just grip the broom here. And then- kinda lob the ball like- Harry? Harry, are you listening?”

Harry started, jolting on her broomstick. “Sorry?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to explain Chasing.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He began his explanation again, and Harry tried her best to listen.

It was just… a little difficult when they were two-hundred feet in the air above the quidditch pitch, and Hogwarts was sprawling open beneath them. The wind was sharp, but rich with summer scents and the thick smell of old wood and dry leaves that came off the forest. Above, the sun wasn’t quite breaking through the cloud cover, but it was close. Enough to heat her back and warm her hair beneath her bandanna, the glow seeping in and making her sleepy.

The urge to take a leaf from Blackscale’s book and bask was overpowering. Or better yet- to simply fly, the sun at her back, and just skim those endless treetops. When she left the Dursleys’, she was definitely taking a broom. Could she have one of those outside Hogwarts? She needed to-

“Harry! Bloody hell, it’s like trying to play with Loony Lovegood,” Ron muttered.

“Sorry,” she said again. “Do you want to just… fly around or something?”

The redhead sighed. “Yeah, alright.”

He acted unenthusiastic, but when Harry dove, whooping as the wind split around her, Ron was right behind.

The land rushed up to meet her, and she leveled out, arrowing over the treetops. Ron drew even with her. They exchanged a glance. No words were said, but there was understanding.

A race.

She pointed. There was an outcrop of stone, a hill that broke the sea of green far ahead.

Ron bent over his broom and shot ahead. Harry copied him, moving faster than she’d ever gone before.

Her eyes watered, the wind biting her face, but her exhilaration was stronger. She wanted to win, not out of any sense of competition, but because it would be something she and Ron had done together. As _friends_.

The trees blurred into a smear of color beneath them. For the first time, she really felt the limits of her sphere of awareness as magical beings flashed into her senses, only to vanish a second later. The forest was full of unseen wonders, some of the magical signatures so alien she ached to stop and see what they matched up to.

Ron was still ahead, but she was gaining, her lighter weight letting her close the gap. The hill was rising, growing larger. Not so much a hill as a small mountain, the first of the chain leading away from Hogwarts.

She was closing, nearly even and-

Something huge and black burst out of the canopy far to her right. Harry yelped, jerking her broom back to stop.

She skidded to a halt in midair. Ahead, Ron looked back before looping around to rejoin her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Look!” she cried, pointing at the creature. It was a horse, but unlike any she’d ever seen. White eyes. Midnight black hide stretched over an emaciated frame. The thing had taken flight on leathery bat wings, soaring away from them with long, beating flaps.

“Look at what?” Ron’s eyes narrowed. “If this is the wind-up to you running for the goal, I’m gonna be mad. I get that enough at home.”

She shook her head and tried to explain what the thing was. It took a few moments, ending with her trying to mime ‘skeleton horse’ with her hands, before Ron straightened.

“Ohh! It’s a uh- thingy. Bill told me about them. Thestrals, or something. You can’t see them unless...” He paused, glancing off in the direction Harry had indicated. The horse creature had slipped back below the treetops. “Unless you’ve seen someone die.”

There was a long, lurching silence, birdsong and rustling leaves not drowning out the quiet of not-talking.

“Uhm.” Harry swallowed. She pointed back toward Hogwarts. “Race you back?”

Ron grinned. Then he took off at full speed, leaving her to yell at his back.

He seemed to forget the thestral in the hubbub of rocketing to a photo finish back at the stadium. Or, Harry hoped he had.

They ended up just flying willy-nilly, curves and circles and loops, wearing themselves out with simple motion.

Exhaustion set in, the sun just beginning to descend. Harry draped herself over her broom and hovered, eyes half shut. Ron was nearby, turning lazy circles in orbit around her.

He passed by, and she saw him glance at her. There was a glint in his eye, a stiffness in his smile, just for a second. And then he was by, circling around for another go.

He hadn’t forgotten.

XXX

The words resurfaced later. “Unless you’ve seen someone die.” They repeated in her head, a constant echo beneath the layer of her thoughts.

Because she hadn’t.

Not even on the television, and she was certain that didn’t count for magic.

This was the second _sign_. First the unicorns, and now these thestrals.

There was something wrong with her. Wrong _in_ her.

Quirrel had said only dark wizards and the impure were shunned by unicorns. And she wasn’t the former.

Impure.

XXX

October 12th

Survival spells.

The topic was one she’d originally intended to ask Hagrid about. But after the unicorns, the idea of having him cast more of those sad, worried looks her way was unpalatable. Quirrel had been her second choice.

Blackscale was still adamantly refusing to explain that can of worms, and still wouldn’t leave the egg.

So she was alone in the library, researching her true focus in magic, and only occasionally trying to ask Blackscale questions before she remembered he was gone.

So, survival spells, as she’d taken to calling them in her head. Magic that could be used to help her live on her own. Practical stuff. But nothing on impurity. (She’d checked.)

A handful of the miscellaneous charms she’d learned already were applicable, as was transfiguration in a more general sense. Herbology and potions were quickly gaining importance on her list though. Potions could be anything from medicine to enhancement, and the better she was with herbology, the easier it would be to forage.

Harry flipped through one of the books she’d picked out. The glossary didn’t hold anything that sounded promising, so she set it aside. The next book however, mentioned something under ‘Finding, water.’

Aguamenti, huh? A charm to draw water vapor from the air to create water from the wand. And- Harry’s eyebrows shot up. It purified any water taken in by default. That was beyond invaluable. She quickly scanned the overview, jotting down notes as she went.

Casting was a full-circle done clockwise, followed by a wavy motion, and then a jab if she wanted the water to shoot out. It-

Someone pulled the chair opposite her out, spinning it round to sit in it backwards. Harry looked up to find Su grinning across the table.

“Hey, Harry.”

“Hi.”

“Turpin learned a spell for color changing from an upperclassmen. Originally she was just going to do MacDougel’s nails with it, but then Fawcett and Patil wanted in, and it kind of became a thing. So… kind of a first-year girls slumber-party tonight. You in?”

It wasn’t really a choice though, was it? Because unless Harry spent the night in the library, she’d basically have to come to the party. And it was going to be all girls, talking about girl-stuff, and doing girly things.

Everything Harry was truly terrible at.

On the other hand, the alternative was sitting here and reading about spells she may or may not even be able to cast, all the while tearing herself up thinking about Quirrel and impurity. Alone. With no warm, sleepy adder at her throat.

She sighed, closing the book on Aguamenti. “Okay.”

“Seriously?” Su was gaping unabashedly at her. “Didn’t think you’d actually go for it. It- sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” she added at Harry’s grim expression. “You’re just hard to pin down, wandering around all the time like you do. So… you’re really in?”

“It… could be fun?”

XXX

And surprisingly enough, it was.

They holed up in Lisa’s room, piling blankets and pillows on her rug until it was a virtual wonderland of cotton and fluff. Someone brought candy, and someone else brought an orange drink called butterbeer, and there was more sugar than Harry had ever had in her life.

Lisa had already taught the color spell to Isobel, and the two girls went around the room, charming everyone’s nails into different, incandescent shades. Harry, slightly stiff, lurking on the periphery because she wasn’t sure what to do ended up with Isobel.

“Wow,” Isobel breathed.

Harry nodded, too surprised to speak.

Her nails, normally worn down and crescented with dirt, looked bizarre in violet. But it was a nice shade, rich and clean, with little swirls of lavender running through it. It was like her nails had been transplanted from someone much classier than she was.

“Can you show me how to do that spell?” she asked.

Isobel waggled her nails playfully. “Sure, but you’ll need to practice on someone else. I like the colors I have.” She demonstrated the wand movement: A horizontal stroke from right to left, angled slightly downward. 3 o’clock to 8 o’clock. “Incantation is ‘Colovaria.’”

Harry squinted, trying to commit the gesture to memory. Only when that was done did she look back to Isobel. “Thanks.”

“No problem. My mum knows a bunch of cosmetic charms like that. Now that I’m here, she’ll probably teach them to me. You want me to pass them on?” She smirked at Harry’s enthusiastic nod. “Just cuz we’re Ravenclaws doesn’t mean we have to be a bunch of boring swots, right?”

“Izzie! Come look at this!” Lisa shouted from across the room.

“Talk to you later, Harry,” Isobel said. She rose, hop-scotching over girls and food to reach Lisa.

Harry sat for a moment before she cadged a nearby butterbeer, eyeing her new nails even as she sipped at the drink. Around her, the other girls were loosening up, talking and giggling over each other, topics moving so rapidly that Harry couldn’t keep up.

But it was nice. Something she’d never done before. No one minded her being there- not even Fawcett, apparently, and the whole atmosphere was light and relaxed. It was, for a time, possible to forget about unicorns and thestrals and all the magic she still needed to learn.

And then someone brought out the makeup.

XXX

Never. Again.

Judging by the funhouse mirror reflection she could make out in her butterbeer bottle, she looked like a clown. A very clumsy clown.

It had been funny, and rather novel to have makeup on at first. But… goodness, it just felt caked on.

Even if somewhere in the hubbub of applying mascara, and the chaos of Brocklehurst trying to use Colovaria on her hair and turning it rainbow, Harry had forgotten to be nervous.

XXX

She rose slowly, sliding out of the blanket she’d been wrapped in.

It was late, enough that the other girls had largely tired themselves out. Isobel was asleep in Lisa’s lap, with the latter snoring loud and proud. Mandy, still rainbow-maned, was drifting, flipping sleepily through a copy of Witch Weekly. Padma was on her back, using her wand to conduct along with the tinny song coming from the wizarding radio by the window.

Fawcett seemed like the only other girl to still be lucid. She was watching Harry, dark hair loose, her eyes bright over a nursed bottle of butterbeer.

“Hey.”

Harry stopped. “Yeah?” Her back tightened, the dozy mood falling away. Surely Fawcett wouldn’t start a fight here, would she?

“’m sorry.”

Harry turned fully to face her. “What?”

Fawcett drummed her seafoam green nails on the glass for a moment before answering. “For the first week. Talking about your family like that.”

“Oh.” What was she supposed to say to that?

“I was- I was being a bitch. It’s just- most of my family got killed in the war. By You-Know-Who. He was a parselmouth, you’re a parselmouth… I got carried away. When I saw you helping Longbottom with his Herbology, it just sort of clicked. His family got it worse than anyone’s, and he was still friends with you. So… I’m sorry.”

Silence. Harry wiped absently at the makeup across her mouth, feeling it smear. Fawcett took a sip.

“It’s okay.”

The other girl set her bottle down. “No it’s not. That was… you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

And for a second, less than a heartbeat, Harry considered telling her. Not the full secret, but something close. Her family had died in the war too. If she said that, would there be something, some sort of mutual understanding between them?

But was it even fair to call them her family? People who died a decade ago. Her mother and father didn’t have faces or voices. They were strangers she’d never known.

So why was Fawcett upset? She wouldn’t have known her family members either.

Or… was it Harry who was wrong? Should she be upset over her parents? Was there a connection there she’d simply never learned? That in the same way she’d never learned hair or makeup, she’d never learned grief.

A lingering, ever-present, _brokenness._

Just another thing wrong with her.

Fawcett was swirling the last of her drink around the bottom of the bottle. Waiting for a reply.

Harry sighed, suddenly tired of the whole conversation. She just wanted to feed the egg and have some quiet before she slept.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad, Fawcett.”

“We’re square?”

“Yeah.”

She bent and picked up her bedding, and headed for the door.

Behind her, Fawcett stirred. Glass clinked against stone.

“Hey. Can I call you Harry? You can call me Sara, if you want.”

Harry hesitated in the doorway, arms full of blankets and pillow.

“Goodnight, Sara.”

XXX

_She dreamt of prayer._

_Knees gone numb against flagstones. Hands clasped, knuckles white. Christ on his cross above an altar, face twisted in reverent agony. The matron at her side, praying in a frantic, desperate mumble._

_It is a memory. A time long ago, a time when she was young enough to almost believe._

_“You must pray harder, Tom. You’ve the devil in you.”_

_There is more after that, but the dream blurs together. A flood of images and sounds._

_Benson and Bishop in the cave by the sea. A dark-haired little girl whispering to toy soldiers when no one else would speak to her. Stubbs and his rabbit. Whalley, screeching with pain. A boy kneeling by his cot, trying to find the words to a prayer that does not exist. A girl weeping, begging to know why. A boy seething, wondering why._

_A boy-_

_A girl-_

XXX

Harry woke. A gasp escaped her, relief from leaving the dream. It was followed by a groan. Her stomach was heaving and cramping. Too much sugar and stress knotting it tight.

She slid out of bed and dashed for the bathroom.

Going helped settle her belly, and she moved more slowly on her way out. To the sink, leaning for a moment, the cool porcelain beneath her palms soothing, and then turning on the water.

Harry scrubbed her hands, glancing up at her sleep-muddled reflection.

A streak of black liquid dripped from the corner of her eye.

She jerked back so suddenly that her knuckles scraped across the faucet. The pain brought her back to reality.

Not black sludge. Mascara. She’d forgotten to remove it along with the rest of her makeup.

But just for a second, there had been terror and certainty. That she was so tainted that it was oozing out of her pores. Just her imagination getting the best of her in a vulnerable moment.

Her sickness wasn’t trickling out like a nosebleed- even if it was still there. And her eye was most definitely not red. That had just been a trick of the light, catching the flame from one of the torches.

XXX

It didn’t really sink in during the first wave of tests and markings. It was only when the second wave began trickling in, A’s and O’s and E’s, that Harry realized that she was actually doing pretty well. She’d done decently in primary, but the teachers had never really been there for her, and getting marked higher than Dudley was usually a good way to get him throwing things at her.

Most of her year mates were pretty sharp as well. Su was better than she was at Transfiguration, but Harry had learned to cast most of the spells in the Charms text by now. Padma was better than both of them, if only just, and was currently vying for top of the year with Lisa, who seemed to be using high History scores to offset low Astronomy.

Potions was Harry’s weakest, and most of that was because she was learning entirely different recipes from the rest of the class. Snape had shot her a few half-snide, half-advisory remarks so far, but mostly seemed content to watch her figure it out on her own. But having to essentially adapt every homework assignment he gave to her non-animal curriculum was turning out to be an exercise in hours of effort.

It was Herbology that turned out to be the surprise though. She had the highest first-year grade in Ravenclaw in the subject. Having Neville as a friend, and Blackscale as a handy source of nature knowledge were turning out to be incredible assets.

When she got her third O in the subject, she decided to get Neville a gift. A cutting from a plant at the edge of the forest. It was only a couple meters in, hardly trespassing at all.

Cunaria Ridens: the laughing orchid. A magical plant that responded to joy and laughter by glowing in bright colors.

Neville was so tongue-tied that he couldn’t even answer when she gave it to him.

And then he met her with a gift the next day.

A little pot with a Snake Vine. It was tetchy, sensitive to cold, but the vine had a coat of leaves that resembled scales, and that could be plucked and chewed to cure minor ailments.

She put it on her bedside table.

The vine was lovely. It _meant_ something, and reminded her of him whenever she saw it.

It was palpable in a way that grades weren’t. Harry enjoyed doing well, being acknowledged by her professors for excelling, but it just… felt like not enough.

An O in Charms wasn’t going to help her survive on her own. And another E in Defense didn’t get her any closer to solving the mystery of her impurity.

The more she learned, the more she needed to learn.

And the more inadequate she felt.

XXX

October 24th

Neither of them mentioned the unicorns.

Harry passed by the cabin one day during one of her explorations of the grounds. Hagrid asked her if she wanted to help him with something, and she said yes.

And that was how she ended up helping the groundskeeper peel potatoes. He did it by hand, something about magic ruining the taste.

It wasn’t her first go with peeling, but it was her choice here. She could choose not to peel and nothing would happen. There would be no punishments. Hagrid was happy just to have her there; he didn’t care how many she did.

She kept going. The motion, the rhythm of hand and knife, were calming. A chance to slow down from days of anxious thoughts of her own uncleanliness. To relax and shuck away some of the sleepless nights full of nightmares.

Quiet.

XXX

October 28th

 _In the dream, she is back in the clearing._ _She is aware it is a dream;_ _the world is too nebulous._ _S_ _he is nude, yet_ _there is no_ _prickle_ _of the grass beneath her feet, and_ _no heat of the sun on her shoulders._

 _The unicorn bows his head again._ _He charges, cloven hooves kicking clods of grass behind him._

 _His horn p_ _enetrates_ _her chest and emerges from her back,_ _smooth as moonlight_ _._ _It hurts even through the dream. Blindingly, brilliantly white agony, one lung trying to inflate around the rod of bone stuck through it. She gasps, choking on fluids, aware that it is not real,_ _but still fundamentally terrified that death is imminent._

_He lifts her, her feet dangling over the clover and heath, and she begins to bleed._

_Sludgy, fetid, black blood pours from the wound in her heart._

_Her hand rises, trying to staunch it, but it’s like trying to plug a dam. It oozes through her fingers, staining_ _violet-charmed nails and the_ _heavy, black-stone ring she wears._

_And now her blood is gushing, covering the meadow- not a meadow anymore, but a lake of darkness, lit at the center by an emerald light. She is above the water, the unicorn gone, but she still dangles._

_Girls slide beneath the surface, their eyes wide and white and empty._

_Lisa. Isobel. Su. Sara._

_Harriet._

_There is a noise from behind._

_Hands come to rest on her shoulders. Long-fingered. Pale as the corpses under the water._

_The man behind her whispers something. A hand rises to stroke up her neck and cup the back of her skull. He drags fingers through her hair, and even through the dream, Harry feels a sudden, terrible_ _**yearning** _ _,_ _curling back to meet the contact._

 _The other hand encircles, coils round her._ _A s_ _mooth palm presses_ _over her hand, staunching her_ _gushing, pouring heart. Skin to skin, divided only by a coating of gore._

_His fingers twist the ring, gem framed with serpents, the stone engraved with a line within a circle within a triangle. He twists it, the motion smearing black sludge._

_“You wear it well.”_

XXX

October 31st

There was a spice in the air. Not pumpkin or food or leaves. Something that was all those and none of those. The castle’s magic felt different. Tighter. Stretched taut. The feeling that came to mind was thestral skin. Pulled so tight that everything beneath was pressed into relief.

The spice was enough to ease the nightmares that woke her at dawn. It was vibrant, yet soothing, plucking at the thread inside her that Quirrel always thrummed. Not tense, but anticipatory. Something was going to happen. Or was happening.

She drifted through her morning routine, eyes half-closed, letting the fluctuations and currents in the magic flow around her.

 _“_ _Speaker!”_

Harry stumbled, nearly tripping over her towel. “Gah!”

Blackscale lifted his head from the nested blankets beside her bed. _“_ _It is nearly time. We will accompany you.”_

He came to her hand as she approached, sliding up her arm to retake his spot around her throat. Something out of place within her chest settled, easing.

Harry reached out. The egg was still, but there was enough of her magic in it by now, a month’s worth of nightly feedings, that she could feel it throbbing around the shell, constantly attuned to her. The snake’s heartbeat was smooth and steady, more rapid than it had been before.

Her hands closed carefully around it, and she slipped it into her pocket. The egg nestled against her belly, a warm, surprisingly light weight.

 _“Do you know how long?”_ she asked.

 _“_ _Soon. When it is ready.”_

She smiled, heady with magic and Blackscale’s return.

 _“_ _I missed you, you know.”_

He hissed low and slow. _“I never left.”_

XXX

There was a calendar beside the bulletin board in the common room. Harry did a double-take as she passed it, counting the days. It was about time for Quirrel to be available again, wasn’t it?

Excitement flared-

_Halloween._

-and then flickered.

No chance he would have office hours today.

She was up earlier than most of her peers, and walked down to breakfast alone. Not quite alone- she amended the thought. There were two serpents with her. She’d speculated on what the new snake might be; it must be magical, and that could mean virtually anything. But now she was giddy, excited to meet the hatchling in a way that feeding the egg hadn’t satisfied.

Harry kept one hand on the egg as she walked, the other stroking a thumb along Blackscale’s back.

There were lit Jack o’lanterns at every corner in the halls. The suits of armor had been transfigured into extravagantly sinister black knights. Bats clouded the ceiling in the Great Hall, the room thick with autumnal smells of all the unusual dishes whipped by for the holiday.

Harry huffed, still a little miffed at the lack of Quirrel, found a seat at the Ravenclaw table, and began trying to find a type of candy that Blackscale might like.

XXX

Cockroach clusters.

He wasn’t that hungry anyway, but it was still pretty funny to watch the girls around her almost lose their breakfast over a snake swallowing caramel-coated roaches. Fawcett- Sara, choked on her orange juice, and gave Harry a glare.

Harry gave her an innocent smile in return.

Neither said anything, but Harry was finding she was alright with that. Whatever strange, sort of amicable, but not friends relationship they had, it was miles better than constantly agonizing over if the other girl hated her.

Harry turned back to her own plate. The house elves had made all the toast rather festive by cutting it into skull shapes, drooling red jam like blood.

She’d just bitten into her second piece when the morning post came in. The swarm of owls usually brought a mad scuffle as everyone grabbed their food to make sure the owls didn’t spill it. Harry loaded toast into her free hand and leaned back, letting the birds descend.

A gray-plumed owl landed dangerously close to her pumpkin juice.

It stuck out its leg to her.

Harry chewed, frowning at it.

The owl waved its skinny leg insistently.

 _“_ _Can I?”_ Blackscale asked. _“I can save half for later, if you help me.”_

“ _Not today_ ,” she said, and reached out to take the letter.

The little roll unfolded to reveal a few lines of thin, elegant calligraphy.

‘ _Miss Riddle,_

_I have a small amount of free time tomorrow before first period. If you would like to stop in, I’d be happy to accommodate you.’_

There was no signature, but none was needed. Her eyebrows shot up, and she spun, looking toward the high table. Quirrel was absent.

She grinned around her mouthful of bread, excitement restored to a blaze. Not only had he made time for her, but he’d remembered she’d wanted to meet, even weeks later. She gulped down the last of her food and jumped up from the table.

XXX

There was a trick to getting places in Hogwarts.

They had the day free for the holiday, and Harry, sick of the library for once, but also wary of wandering into the forest with a fragile snake egg in her pocket, stayed inside.

It was going to be an exploration day. She’d had several already, but most were outside, wandering around the grounds or into the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest if no one was watching.

She’d explored Hogwarts twice now. The first just to figure out optimal ways to all her classes. The second had been an exploration of the dusty, deserted hallways near Fluffy’s corridor on the third floor. An entire wing of the castle had been roped off just to seclude the cerberus, and she still really wasn’t sure why. Something to ask Hagrid the next time she saw him.

But there was a trick to navigating Hogwarts. It was simply, not to navigate. The castle responded, like all magic, to intent. If she had a destination in mind, and focused hard, willing it to appear, things would align in such a way as to get her there quicker and more easily.

And if she didn’t focus?

The castle turned into a tangle of corridors and classrooms, with entire sections she’d never seen before presenting themselves for exploration. There was no palpable movement of rooms, but familiar paths would give forth unfamiliar doors, or sprout new tapestries for examination. It was like walking through some giant Escher painting, where all the bizarre stairs and geometry were just out of sight.

Footsteps the only sound around, Harry disappeared into the depths of the castle.

XXX

She drew to a halt in a doorway, breathless at the room Hogwarts had shuffled up.

There had been classrooms and closets, colonnades and cloisters. But there hadn’t yet been a garden.

Until now.

It was a courtyard, an open space ringed on all sides by towers and walls. There was the sense of stepping into a box canyon, the only exits the door and the sky far above, framed with crenelations.

Rectangular planters ran in neat rows across the space, all overgrown, packed shoulder-high with vegetation. The cobblestones surrounding the planters were torn up, exposing earth beneath, that too sprouting wildflowers and thistles.

Harry walked in a daze, traversing the rows. There was wind, impossible in the enclosed courtyard, but there anyway, thick with pollen and scent. The magic here was blended, Hogwarts and the land’s, the mixture more to the latter.

Paving stones inset with colored glass led the way to a small, rusting, iron bench. Harry sank onto it.

Her room was hers, but it was also Ravenclaw’s, and the school’s. The forest was nice, but it was not hers. It wasn’t anyone’s, and she was fairly sure it would defy any attempts to change that.

But here, this was a place that could be hers.

XXX

She settled to investigating the planters. They were very weedy, but growing at the heart of Hogwarts had virtually saturated them with magic, and made everything in them hardier, larger, and more lush.

Digging into a nest of creepers in the southmost planter revealed a tiny patch of Worsteria. The pale flowers caused minor misfortune when mixed with most things, but had the side effect of countering jinxes and curses that caused deadly misfortune, and could even be brewed into a Lesser Luck Potion if nullified properly. According to her book, they were rare and difficult to grow, most often springing up at battlefields or anywhere where there had been great disaster.

The planter at middle-right had broken open, the stone cracked down the center to make way for the delving roots of a thorny bush. Harry was eyeing it, considering uprooting it, when she spotted a cluster of shimmering, dewy orbs in the center. They looked almost like frog eggs, only mauve. Nothing she recognized, but an indicator the bush was occupied by some creature.

She left it alone, moving on to the next lot.

The rightmost planter in the center yielded roses, mundane, but still very beautiful.

Top-left gave forth a thick lot of hardy grasses. Her questing fingers had barely brushed them when the blades of grass drew blood. Harry hissed and drew back, cradling her hand. The few beads of blood that had touched the plant soaked in, the grass in that spot turning a vivid red. Some sort of... vampire plant. That needed more-

The egg shifted in her pocket.

Harry went still, riveted on the tiny lump.

It twitched.

“ _It’s hatching!”_ she and Blackscale cried in unison, Harry nearly toppling into the vampire grass in her excitement.

Only- She had to show Quirrel. It was his egg. He needed to be there for its hatching.

Harry snatched the egg out of her pocket. A minuscule crack had formed at one end. As she stared, it grew a bit larger.

A thought stayed her: if she took off running, then the odds of dropping the egg were high. And it would mean hurtling through miles of corridor, all the while jostling a tiny, infant snake. It’d be lucky if she didn’t scramble the poor thing inside the egg.

Harry set the egg down in a patch of earth. She unbuttoned her robes and tugged them off, breathing easier in just shirt and pants. The robes became an impromptu nest around the egg, swaddling it against the stone floor.

 _Crick-crack_. The line in the shell jagged a little further.

 _“_ _Blackscale, can you get Quirrel?”_

_“I will not leave the egg.”_

Harry grimaced. He said it in the same implacable, obstinate tone he’d had whenever the egg or ‘Ouroboros’ came up.

“Fine. I’ll just- uhm.” Was there a spell to talk to someone at a long distance? Or better yet, just summon them like Quirrel had with-

“Got it!” She drew her wand. Cumbersome in her hand, but necessary for the urgency of the situation. “Serpensortia!”

A black snake dropped from the tip. It curled round to look up at her.

_“I need your help with someone. Can you find someone for me?”_

The snake’s tongue flickered excitedly. _“Speaker. I am at your service.”_

_“A human man- a uhm, male, with a big, purple turban- you know what that is? A hat. On his head.”_

_“Humans all look the same. I will try though, if you wish.”_

The egg twitched, rocking side to side in the robes.

Impatience crashed headlong into anxiety, and Harry groaned under her breath. How to do this? How to make it understand her? Parseltongue wasn’t bridging the species gap.

 _“You,”_ Blackscale interrupted. He had taken up position around the robes, encircling them with his body. _“The human you seek is a speaker as well. He is this speaker’s sire. Follow her scent and he will be near. Bring him to us.”_

 _“_ _Perfect,”_ Harry said, reaching out to stroke his eye-ridges. _“Give me a sec.”_ Wand out again. “Serpensortia!” She recast the spell a half-dozen more times, calling snakes to her. Two more were black snakes, and seemed to know the first. The third and fifth were tiny grass snakes. The fourth, an adder, smaller than Blackscale. And the sixth, some magical breed, its scales sleek, the colors smearing across them like living camouflage, changing from moment to moment.

Blackscale repeated the mission, and Harry picked them up and took them to the door.

 _“Thank you, but please hurry!”_ she called, sending the squadron of serpents into the hall beyond.

Back to the egg.

XXX

The temptation was there. To help the snakeling force its way out. But Blackscale had hissed warningly when she’d reached out. Something about it needing to prove itself.

And so she sat, back against one of the planters, watching the egg slowly shake itself open. The sun was just peaking over the edge of the mouth of the garden, casting its light over the scene.

Something wet- albumen, she thought, was trickling slowly from one end of the egg, soaking into the robes. A little chip of shell flaked away. Something wet and slick inside the egg roiled, but the hole was too small to really see it.

The process was hypnotic. The methodical rhythm of a birth, played out in the cracks across a shell.

Without realizing she was doing it until her wand was already raised, Harry began casting again.

“Serpensortia.”

The first serpent called was one of the ones she’d just sent off. Harry flushed, sent the grass snake on its way, and cast again, focusing on not calling her seekers.

And again.

And _again_.

Until the cobbles around her were thick with coiled, writhing bodies, scales shimmering in the sun, dozens of whispery voices filling the garden.

There were other egg-eaters there. And snake-eaters. Species that would gladly prey on their fellows or an egg. And yet, without her saying anything, they understood her intent.

The egg was surrounded, haloed by the magic she’d donated to it, the glow intensifying with each moment.

 _Crack_. A sound like tiny bones breaking. A section at the end of the egg pushed up. The chip was still attached. There was a long pause, the snake inside seeming to muster itself, and then it pushed again.

The chip fell. A glimpse of the pointed egg tooth jabbing through the leathery skin. It withdrew.

Pushed again.

The snakes had fallen silent around her. The process proceeded, slow enough that the sun was sliding over head as the snake was born.

Push. Crack.

Spiderwebbing.

Branching.

Flaking away.

Push.

How long would it take them to find Quirrel? Surely he’d be there soon. He needed to see this. She _wanted_ him to see it.

Push.

One of them began chanting it. _“Push. Push. Push.”_ Which she couldn’t tell.

Or had it been her?

The snakes were gathering around her, on her, draping over feet and hands, garlanding her.

 _“Push.”_ A score of parsel voices in one.

The magic around the egg had dwindled. The hatchling was getting tired.

It pushed anyway. A slab of shell lifted, dropped. Lifted. Broke away.

_“Push.”_

A glimpse of the serpent, scales emerald green beneath the fetal slime, heaving against its prison.

Her palms met the stone of the floor, fingers digging into the earth between them. Her back rigid beneath her shirt. _Let it be born._

_“Push.”_

A crack. Splintering.

_“Push.”_

Splitting.

_“Push.”_

The word had lost meaning. Coherence. They were chanting it. Unceasing.

_“Push. Push. Push. Push. Push.”_

Leather parting.

She had never prayed, but this was prayer. A plea for birth, told through a communion of serpents.

_“Push!”_

The tip of the shell split. A tiny snout jabbed out.

Its tongue flicked in. Then out.

Its first breath of the outside world.

Harry reached out to it. None protested this time. It was born.

Her nail traced the shell, her magic moving to slice the shallow cracks open.

The egg opened.

The hatchling was curled inside, not even big enough to coil. Brilliant, poison green, its eyes black and barely open.

Her fingers slid beneath it.

Tiny, lukewarm, trembling with the exertion of breaking free.

Its minute nimbus of magic, like another layer of scales, was trailing along her hand, plucking and exploring her own aura. They were in tune, the same notes played at a different octave.

Harry lifted it slowly, and brought it to her chest. Lowered it, the hatchling nestled in her lap, cradled by the overlarge t-shirt stretched over her legs.

The snake shifted a moment, curling a little tighter, and then stilled. Its eyes closed. Asleep in seconds.

Born.

Slowly, twitching and grinning with the enormity of the occasion, Harry lifted her hands to the sky. Her fingers blocked out the sun.

And then she screamed. Yelled her triumph, the wonder, the joy, shrieked it at the top of her lungs, louder than she’d _ever_ said anything in her entire, silent life.

Around her, the serpents were hissing, chanting again, just as caught up in her joy.

Her lungs deflated, her body quivering, suddenly spent, happily exhausted.

She sank back slowly, letting the snakes reposition. They parted, and then came back together on top and around her.

They were still chanting softly.

 _“_ _Ouroboros. Ouroboros.”_

Harry freed a hand from the crawling carpet to wipe her cheeks.

XXX

She waited a long while, luxuriating beneath her guests. Long enough for the sun to touch the other side of the towers.

Quirrel hadn’t come.

Harry tugged her robes beneath her head, bunched them into a rough pillow, and closed her eyes.

For the first time in nearly six weeks, the steel left her muscles. So what if the dumb old unicorns didn’t like her? She had snakes. And they had her.

It was hard to feel impure when she’d just brought a _life_ into this world.

The baby serpent slept on.

Harry joined it shortly.

There were no dreams.


	8. 8

“ _Feed me.”_

Harry woke to a grass snake’s forked tongue in her ear.

 _“_ _I’m hungry,”_ it hissed.

She blinked, slowly, disjointedly. One eye was blind, that side of her face pressed into the dirt, her nose thick with the scent of churned soil. The world felt cavernous and far away, glimpsed through a curtain of dark hair that had come loose from her bandanna.

Harry lifted her head, just enough to shake the hair out of her eyes. Taking stock. Her legs and back were stiff, the consequence of sleeping on the ground. Her right hand was… outstretched, clutching at the air in front of her. She stared at it for a long moment before withdrawing it.

 _“_ _Hungry!”_ the grass snake said again, echoed by a half-dozen other serpents this time.

 _“_ _Fine. Give me a_ _sec._ _”_

She rose to a sitting position. The snakes draped over her fell away into a tangle, all hissing furiously as they tumbled into the others.

The sun had disappeared behind the towers entirely, and the courtyard was in full shade. She’d rolled into one of the cobble-less patches of earth during her nap, and had to brush the dirt off her clothes as she got to her feet.

Moving around got her thoughts going again, let her shake off the last vestiges of sleep. After one too many nightmares, the nap had been just what she needed. She ached from lying on the ground, but it was a good sort of tenderness, and her magic felt pleasant, almost relaxed after the earlier exertion of hatching the egg.

It was a wonder the thing hadn’t exploded with the amount she’d pumped into it.

The newborn snake, still sleeping, got shifted into her shirt pocket. Harry picked up her robes, tucking the eggshell into a pocket before pulling them back on.

The crowd of snakes was watching her, scores of reptile eyes following her every move.

She checked her watch. “Geez. Okay- _We slept through lunch. But it’s almost time for dinner. You’re all welcome to come.”_

They were after all, her guests. She’d pulled them away from their lives to join the birthing, and now she needed to reward their time.

Only… there was no way she was taking this lot into the Great Hall. One adder was bad enough already. Thirty snakes would cause a panic.

A few of the lazier serpents were already tugging at her pants or trying to climb her legs and catch a ride. Harry sighed, and bent down.

 _“_ _All aboard.”_

XXX

She’d tried to play with Mrs. Figg’s cats before. Once.

Dealing with forty-odd summoned snakes was a lot like that. Only, while she couldn’t understand cats, the snakes all had very colorful vocabularies. Every one of them loathed the others, and were fiercely territorial of the few square inches of Harry they occupied.

The hatchling was in her pocket, and Blackscale had his spot around her neck, but the rest of her, shoulder to finger-tip, down her shirt, even a few around her waist like belts, was be-snaked.

They were _heavy._

And squirmy.

She kept having to stop and catch her breath because the ones down her shirt were tickling her, and any snake touching her bare skin was trying to taste her sweat with equally ticklish tongues.

Her muffled, snorty giggles drowned out even the constant hissing that surrounded her.

 _“_ _You said you-_ _you- ha! Stop it! You_ _smelled food down there?”_ she wheezed, speaking to a snake on the back of her wrist. It was a magical breed, with jewel-like, powder-blue scales, and brilliant red eyes, that Harry had uncreatively dubbed ‘Sky.’

Sky scented the air. _“That one,”_ she said, jabbing her snout at the left hallway ahead.

They’d crossed most of the castle already, but they seemed to be getting close. The blue-snake’s directions were getting more precise. Harry had mostly just played packmule and tried very hard to focus her intent on Hogwarts leading her to the kitchens.

She took the left hall. It sloped downward, and a stairwell at the far end led them two flights deeper. They’d been descending all the way so far. Were the kitchens in the dungeons or something? Was that sanitary?

They were just crossing the boundary where the castle architecture gave way to the rougher, older stone of the dungeons, when the shape in Harry’s pocket stirred. It was minute, enough that she was half-sure it was just one of the snakes beneath her clothes shifting around until it happened again.

The hand that wasn’t holding Sky rose to dip within.

The newborn serpent curled into a defensive knot in the center of her palm.

 _“_ _Hullo,”_ Harry said.

The baby flicked its tongue at her, but said nothing.

 _“_ _She is too young to speak,”_ Blackscale said. He nosed down to look more closely at it- her. _“She will be hungry though.”_

Fine enough. They were headed to the kitchens anyway.

 _“_ _How long until she speaks?”_ Harry asked.

The adder gave a lazy, catlike blink. _“When she is ready.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“It depends on the snake,”_ Sky interjected.

Both adults watched as a grass snake probed too close to the hatchling. She balled tighter, opening her mouth to reveal a set of tiny, needle teeth, and hissed warningly.

Harry nudged the offender back onto her arm. _“Away.”_ To the little snake, she added, “ _I’m Harry, and this is Blackscale. We’re in a place called Hogwarts and...”_

Just because she couldn’t speak didn’t mean she couldn’t listen. And didn’t children learn words by listening to adults anyway?

XXX

 _“_ _And this is a hallway in the dungeons. Dungeons are like a stone burrow. And- we’re almost there?”_

 _“_ _We’re here_ _,”_ Sky corrected.

‘Here,’ in this case, meant a large painting of a fruit bowl. There was a palpable smell of food in the hallway; meat cooking over a fire, and a rich, oniony scent that she thought might be soup.

Harry stared at the picture. Looked for a knob or a door bell.

Nothing.

She knocked on the frame.

XXX

House. Elves.

Harry had known there were non-human species in the wizarding world. Goblins at the bank, and whatever Hagrid was, but she honestly hadn’t given it much thought. She’d even known there were house elves at Hogwarts that cooked the meals.

But… _these_. They looked a bit like goblins. Though, if goblins were Dudley-equivalents, then house elves were the scrawny little Harriet Riddles that probably got beat up by goblins.

Small and kind of knobbly, with squeaky voices like something from a cartoon. Their magic was unlike any she’d seen thus far though. It was… restrained. They didn’t radiate any at all. Instead, theirs was confined within their bodies, thick and warm like a second bloodstream beneath the skin.

They were also terrified of snakes. As evinced by the dozen squealing elves that recoiled the instant the portrait swung open.

Things degenerated for a long few minutes after that. Harry panicked over scaring the elves. The elves panicked over her snakes, and because they’d upset her. Both tried to explain that they were sorry, talking over the other to do so. Then the snakes started chiming in with their massively unhelpful suggestions.

Harry was halfway through deciding to just leave when one of the braver elves finally shouted an invitation to come in. Apparently, the house elves valued hospitality over fear, and Harry found herself escorted to a small table, one of the elves explaining that they were in fact, elves, on the way.

She found herself seated at a little round table on the side, out of the way of the kitchen bustle, and with a heaping bowl of onion soup. A moment later, an elf delivered a plate of chopped chicken.

“For Miss Riddle’s snake friends!” they announced. The elf was wearing a little dress made from sewn-up potato sacks, and their voice was a bit higher than some of the others, so Harry thought they might be female.

“Thanks, uhm-” Harry paused. “Is it okay that we’re here?”

She hadn’t heard of anyone coming down to the kitchens, and they weren’t exactly obvious, what with the concealed painting in a corner of the dungeons.

“Miss Riddle is very kind,” the elf said. “We is not havings many students coming down here, and none with snake friends, but Lansy is happy to serve.”

“Oh. Uhm. So… you’re the cooks?”

“Oh no, Miss.” Lansy shook her head, her large ears flapping about. “We is doing all the chores in the castle. Cooking, cleaning, lighting fires, sometimes it seems like Hogwarts is making new rooms just for us to scrub.” The elf winked at that last, though Harry didn’t understand why.

She filled the silence by nudging a few of the snakes down toward the plate of chicken. It took some squabbling, but eventually most of the snakes found a spot on Harry or the table that wasn’t too objectionable. Even the hatchling got a very, very small piece of meat, with Blackscale hovering protectively nearby.

“So.” Harry glanced around the kitchen. Two elves were turning an entire roast pig on a spit, while a third glazed it. Across from them, a whole line of elves were chopping and prepping salad ingredients, depositing them in large bowls, where other elves mixed them into the final product. The entire kitchen had an industrious air, a light, thrifty sort of energy.

They were all smiling.

“Uhm.”

“Is Miss needing anything else?” Lansy asked.

One of the elves at the salad table snapped their fingers, and with a _pop_ , a bowl of salad levitated across the room to settle on a shelf with dozens of others.

Wandless, nonverbal magic.

Harry opened her mouth.

Her eyes fell on Lansy. The elf was fidgeting, uncomfortable under her gaze. Or was it discomfort at Harry not saying anything?

A second glance around the kitchen. There was something off here, though she only realized what when an elf mopped up a spill with the edge of his… rag. That he was wearing. None of the elves had clothes. They wore towels and aprons and even sashes with the Hogwarts crest, but there were no actual garments. It was like they’d scrounged their outfits out of whatever cloth was at hand.

Lansy was wilting slightly, the tips of her ears drooping.

_We is doing all the chores in the castle._

Suddenly, her mental comparison to herself felt a bit too accurate.

“Do- do you need any help with cooking?” Harry stammered.

The elf went very still, her eyes the only part of her moving. They went wide.

And then she blinked, seeming to regroup, and shook her head. “No, Miss, we is getting along very well, and it is not proper for a witch to be’s helping us.”

“You like doing all this?”

Lansy looked politely confused this time. Like Harry had just said the sky was blue.

“Of course, Miss. House elves is always happy when we is doing work.” Lansy paused, checking over her shoulder at the other elves. “Miss, I is needing to get back. Is Miss wanting anything else?”

She had questions. So many questions.

And they all turned to ash in her mouth at the sight of a couple hundred elves scurrying about, a few literally whistling while they worked.

“No. Thanks, Lansy.”

XXX

Harry didn’t taste a drop of the onion soup. She ate. She was full. But it tasted like nothing.

And when she was done, forks down, and waving off the few elves offering her dessert, Lansy reappeared.

“Is Miss-”

“It was good,” Harry said stiffly. Her voice was too high. Tight. “You- you lot did a good job.”

Lansy _beamed_ at her. “Miss is very kind. Is you wanting anything to take up with you?”

“No, thanks.” Harry stood up, suddenly conscious of how the elves were like children beside even her small height. She reached out to begin gathering the snakes, when a thought hit her.

“Do you know how to return something summoned?” She gestured to the snakes, most gorged half-asleep on chicken. “Them, I mean.”

Lansy, smiled, and then snapped her fingers.

XXX

She felt lighter without them. It was easier to climb back up through the castle. A burden had been lifted, replaced with another that had nothing to do with weight.

Lighter, yes, but also lesser. Ephemeral.

Like losing Blackscale all over again. Even if the adder was still wreathing her throat, keeping an eye on the baby in her breast pocket.

House elves.

They were… they were broken, weren’t they? Broken enough to find happiness in servitude.

Unseen. Cleaning the castle, top to bottom. Secluded in a room, toiling away to feed everyone else.

She wanted to go back and talk to them. Question the elves until she knew the how and why of it, even though she knew they wouldn’t answer her. Couldn’t answer her.

Who had made them this way?

Was it Hogwarts? Wizards?

She had no answers.

She did not know how to feel.

XXX

The third floor corridor was marked off by a velvet rope, and the hallway itself ringed with a line of bright red paint. Dumbledore had made it very apparent that it was forbidden.

But that was for good reason.

It was actually _really_ easy to wander up to. Two flights of revolving stairs in the main stairwell were enough to get from the Great Hall to Fluffy. The work of five minutes, tops.

But Harry was still lagging a bit from the summonings, and was a hair too slow to catch the second stair. One of the portraits jeered at her, and she hissed back in parseltongue.The painted monk blanched – somehow – and vanished into the depths of his canvas.

She was bouncing on her heels, waiting for the stairs to rotate back around, when Filch crossed one of the walkways over the passage. The custodian was muttering to himself, and to Harry’s frustration, turned down the corridor leading to Fluffy.

Harry wilted where she stood.

 _“_ _Now what?”_

 _“Go outside?”_ Blackscale suggested.

She shook her head.

It was a holiday, and the weather was brisk, but sunny. The grounds would be thronging with other students. Too many eyes, too many questions, when all she wanted was quiet.

When the stairs rotated around to her next, Harry took them.

XXX

Her feet carried her at random. Just as she had earlier in the day, Harry walked aimlessly, letting the castle cycle convoluted, winding hallways and rooms that hadn’t seen a class in decades. The exploration should have been enough- the curiosities churned up in forgotten cupboards enough to keep her occupied.

But it wasn’t filling the silence.

It pressed in on her. And with it, thoughts of cringing, servile house elves.

Harry hissed a swear under her breath and slammed shut the moldering textbook she’d been leafing through.

She didn’t need quiet. She needed a distraction.

XXX

Up and up through the castle. Ghostlike, from destination to destination, searching for something to focus on.

The room she’d found with Ron and Neville- the layered room that had called to her, was absent. The library was being slammed shut by a fuming Madame Pince just as Harry arrived. The Weasley Twins had done something and earned themselves another lifetime ban.

Ravenclaw Tower got a wide berth. If she went there, there would be questions. And she wouldn’t be able to stop her own from spilling out.

What were house elves? Why were they (slaves) servants?

She had a vague inkling to go up the Astronomy Tower and watch the forest, only to remember halfway there that it was kept locked during the day. The better to prevent older students canoodling up there.

The next set of doors she opened led onto a spiral stair. It was no different from any of the others she’d climbed so far, but for the smell. An acrid, sour odor, cut through with the scent of open air.

Muffled hooting floated down to her.

Blackscale squirmed uncomfortably as she ascended. _“Smells like hunting-birds.”_

 _“_ _Yes._ _You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to.”_

 _“And leave you alone with hunters?”_ Blackscale snorted, then slid inside her robes, disappearing from view.

Harry emerged. Tiny bones crunched underfoot with every step. The owlery was chilly, airier than even Ravenclaw Tower, and filled with a constant rustle of feathers. The stink was stronger, almost overwhelming; rotting owl pellets mixing with stale bird spoor.

She’d never paid much attention to owls before, but they weren’t like any of the other magical animals she’d encountered so far. Where others were more… undefined, owls were like cut gems. They had keenness and insight, honed sharp, stored not in the chest like wizards, but in the head.

Why, she wasn’t sure. Were magic owls just naturally smarter? It didn’t feel _natural_ though. It was like they’d been refined into what they were. So-

A massive eagle-owl hooted, and then swept down at her.

Harry yelped, only for the owl to hover, flapping in front of her with a reproachful cry.

She held out an arm.

The weight that settled there was… not much. Barely more than Blackscale if he was gorged. The owl’s talons wrapped around her wrist, biting into the cloth, but just missing breaking the skin.

Harry let out a long, whistling breath, and nodded to the bird.

“Hullo.”

XXX

It wasn’t Fluffy, but it was a start.

The owls were smart enough to understand her, and a few of the more emotive ones would actively respond to her.

Harry had taken a seat on a white-splattered bench along the wall of the owlery. The eagle-owl, still occupying her arm, was her main focus. A few probing questions had revealed that it was male, and rather proud in a way that had nothing to do with his arrogant, feathered brow, and everything to do with the way he pecked her if she annoyed him.

But he was gorgeous. The way his feathers layered, varying in shape and size depending on their function, reminded her of snake scales. His eyes were a brilliant, blood red, and bright with the intelligence she could read inside all of the letter-carriers.

Harry sat and simply studied him for a long while. The owl preened under her attention, casting smug looks at the other owls that had congregated to watch.

How come she could talk to Blackscale and not them? Why was parseltongue a specific talent? Seriously. There had to be a spell to speak to animals. That was about as classical as it got.

She squinted, focusing her magic on the owl.

Talking. Communication. Understanding. Translation.

Tendrils of her power brushed across the owl’s core. Glimmers of _it_ bled through, muted, emotions sharper, but also less complex than a human’s.

Fraying. Splitting.

The connection was waning; focusing on it and the owl was too much, stretching her mind in ways it wasn’t meant to go.

Fragmented flashes of imagery, a world seen through eyes infinitely superior to hers.

The link broke like glass. She drew back, clutching her head. The eagle-owl gave a grumpy squawk and pecked her on the shoulder.

“Right, right. I get it.”

A dull throb had taken up residence behind her left eye.

Was that because she’d botched the connection, or because she’d been trying to understand an owl’s thoughts with her human brain?

“Did you get anything from that?” she asked the owl.

He pecked her squarely in the forehead.

“Ouch!”

There were footsteps coming up the stairs. Harry turned awkwardly, balancing the bird, realizing as she did so that she tasted copper.

Her free hand rose to probe. Not her forehead, but her nose. A thin streamer sliding down to her lips.

A boy emerged from the stairwell.

He was blond and pale, cheeks already rosy in the chill. The blush did nothing to detract from a sharp, pointed face, and robes far nicer than the off the rack stuff she wore. The poised way he stood, eyebrow raised, looked strange on someone her age.

And then he spoke- “What do you think you’re doing with my owl?” -smooth face furrowing, voice petulant, and the illusion was broken.

Harry pinched her nose shut. “Sowwy.” She jiggled her arm, trying to urge the owl toward the boy, only for the bird to snap its beak at her. “Dibn’t know ‘e was yours.”

“Stolas, come here.” The boy waved a roll of parchment at the owl.

With a rush of wings, the owl took flight. He snatched the roll from the boy’s hand and kept going, straight out the window.

“You’re supposed to let me tie it on!” the boy yelled after him.

Harry found herself cradling her wrist as well now. Stolas’ talons had dug in when he took off.

“Episkey. Episkey.” Stopping her nosebleed took another four tries, finally ceasing when she combined the motion for relieving pressure with siphoning fluid. Hopefully the blood just went back to where it should be and… didn’t cause an aneurysm or something, because she didn’t think motions were supposed to be combined.

“Are you doing wandless healing?” the boy exclaimed. “Show me.”

Harry cast a dour look at him, but it didn’t stop him from leaning over her to watch.

Her wrist was easier. The owl’s talons had cut five small gashes in her skin. She pinched each shut between ring finger and thumb, then drew her index over the cut. Rinse and repeat, finishing with rinsing the excess blood off with Aquamenti.

“Impressive.” The boy made to offer her a hand, glanced down at her bloodied, dirt-stained palms, and withdrew it before bowing his head slightly. “Draco Malfoy.”

“Harriet Riddle.”

She rose from the bench so she wouldn’t have to talk up to him. Stolas had left behind a few feathers on her robes, which she pocketed, noticing as she did that he’d done far more damage to her sleeve than her skin.

“Wonderful,” she muttered, poking a finger through the rent cloth.

“You’re that parselmouth, aren’t you?”

She tensed. The boy had a green tie. Another Slytherin looking for a show?

“I am.”

But Malfoy was rubbing his chin. “Riddle… I know I’ve heard that name before. Are you pureblood?”

“Orphan.”

“Oh.” He recovered quickly. “Where did you learn to heal like that?”

She shrugged. “Practiced.”

Hunger flashed across his features before he covered it with a smile. There was definitely something too sharp, too sly about this boy.

“Show me how. I’m sure you know this, but the Malfoys have a lot of pull in Britain. And Father is a school governor. It wouldn’t be hard to put in a good word for you in return.”

Harry blinked slowly at him. What did that even mean? A good word for what?

“No thanks.”

His brows knit together. “What do you want then?”

It took her a moment to find an answer. Malfoy was a pureblood. And if he was as important as he seemed to think he was, then he’d almost certainly grown up with magic.

“What spells do you know?”

“Oh. I see,” Malfoy said, nodding. “Do you do trades in Ravenclaw too? Give and take?”

She nodded back.

His smile gave way to a look of concentration. “I know a lot of hexes and curses that don’t get used much. Father showed me the Bone-Breaker once, if you want something really dark.”

“What would I do with that?” Harry said. “Do you know anything… uhm… practical?”

“Curses _are_ practical.”

Were all Slytherins this creepy?

“Actually practical stuff. Like- I know how to make fire or water, heal wounds, find north, uh- unlock locks. Something usable every day.”

Judging by the incredulous look Malfoy was giving her, he genuinely thought curses were that. But then he sighed, rubbing his eyes in exasperation. “Trust a girl to only want to learn domestic nonsense. That’s what house elves are for.”

An ugly jag of anger went through her. “Have a nice day, Malfoy.”

Harry turned on her heel and headed for the stairwell.

“Wait! You- wait.” Malfoy had his wand out. “Your robes. Do you know how to fix them?”

She stopped walking.

XXX

They traded.

Malfoy taught her Reparo, a spell of almost frightening utility. In return, Harry began showing him how to do wandless magic. It wasn’t easy for him, Malfoy was very attached to his wand, and had to be coached gently or he’d start sniping at her.

It was a bit like what she imagined teaching Dudley to do something was. Both had a strongly developed sense of self-importance to tiptoe around. Malfoy was oilier, but at the very least, _useful_.

Reparo was, without a doubt, the most useful spell she’d learned thus far. It repaired things. There were limits on how many times something could be fixed, and it couldn’t create 100% from whole cloth, but it worked on _everything_. It was the least Harry could do not to drool in front of Malfoy.

By the time the sun was touching the top of the forest, painting the grounds orange, Harry had gotten Draco (please, if I may call you Harry?), through the very basics of feeling his magic and having an intent.

“Same time on Wednesday?” Malfoy had said, and Harry had shrugged.

A trade was a trade.

She had no problem teaching him if he kept coming up with spells as good as Reparo. And teaching itself was helpful. Having to enunciate and explain the little details of wandless magic forced her to develop a more concrete understanding of exactly what she did, beyond vague feelings and thinking really hard to make things happen.

When Malfoy finally departed down the stairs to go to dinner (Harry declined his invitation. She wasn’t in the mood for a boisterous Halloween feast), Harry found herself with a warm sense of fulfillment. It had been a very profitable meeting. Even the lingering sense of disquiet over house elves and her own impurity couldn’t detract from the massive leap in survival magic she’d made today.

Harry ambled to one of the glassless windows, leaning on a relatively clean part of the sill. She’d give Malfoy a five-minute head start, and then go visit Fluffy. He’d be lonely, cooped up while everyone was at dinner.

XXX

Fluffy’s door was locked.

She pressed a thumb to it, pushed her magic in like she was filling the keyhole with water, and then twisted.

Fluffy’s door was unlocked.

She slipped in.

He knew her well enough by now that she didn’t even have to sing for him. The cerberus sniffed her hands and licked her face, and Harry pressed her nose to his fur. He smelled like dog, scaled up by ten. A musky scent uniquely Fluffy.

“I missed you.”

She examined him, meeting each set of dark eyes, one at a time. Fluffy wore his magic in his fur and hide. That wasn’t the only spot it was- it suffused every inch of him, just as hers filled her body, but his core was more ill-defined. Branching, the magic of three, separate intelligences meeting at a loose nexus in his barreled chest.

Could she speak to him? Understand his thoughts and feelings?

Fluffy’s left head turned to look at the pile of cow bones he kept in the corner. They were splintery and cracked, gnawed ragged by three sets of jaws. Left-head barked thunderously. A moment later, the other two barked back in agreement.

On the other hand… was there any need to?

Her head still ached from trying Stolas anyway.

Harry shot him a closed-lipped smile, using her voice to intone her excitement at the idea.

“Let’s run around a bit.”

XXX

Fluffy’s room was another of those variable spaces Hogwarts had. Big some days, small on others. It was long and wide, a cathedral hall, today.

They played fetch until Fluffy crushed the last bone to powder. He was panting, his muzzle flecked with froth, but his tail hadn’t stopped wagging. He padded back to her, bent to drink from his dish (big enough she could have swam in it), and then flopped over on the mound of hay that was his bed.

Fluffy gave a pleased sort of grumble as she came over and took a seat against one heaving flank.

“You’ve met Blackscale before. I made a new friend this morning. She doesn’t have a name yet, but she just hatched.”

She held up the baby snake for Fluffy to sniff. The hatchling bared her fangs at him, but Fluffy just snuffled thoughtfully and withdrew, laying his leftmost head down beside Harry.

 _“_ I’ve been telling her about all the stuff in the castle. _This is Fluffy. He’s a prisoner here.”_

Hogwarts seemed to have a lot of those.

“Uhm. What were we talking about last time I was here?” Fluffy’s ears perked up. “Right. I was telling you a story. _You can hear it too, if you want_ ,” she added to the little snake.

“Where were we? Had we gotten to the part with the mines yet?”

Fluffy’s center head shook left-right.

“Okay. So the Fellowship couldn’t make it over the mountains, so they had to go through these mines. Dwarven mines- where Gimli was from.” Pause. “Are dwarves real?”

Center-head nodded.

“Huh. So these mines were sealed, and-”

XXX

She talked until the windows went dark.

The snakes were still, Blackscale silent, but she could tell they were listening. Fluffy’s left and right heads were dozing, the latter snoring loudly, but the center was attentive enough for all three of them.

Harry was just getting into the segment with the Balrog- she hadn’t understood most of the book, really, but it had been one of the few she’d smuggled into her cupboard – when the other two heads snapped up.

Fluffy came to his feet so suddenly that Harry was bowled over. He stood, limbs stiff, his heads cocked to listen. Left-head lifted his lip, a bass growl starting in Fluffy’s chest.

“What’s wrong?”

He was staring at the door.

Harry rose and crept toward it. Pressed her ear against the wood. It was too thick to hear anything, but she trusted his ears better than hers.

She twisted the knob and opened the door, hinges groaning.

Outside, the corridor was dark. The torches had all gone out. No- Harry glanced up and down the hall. _All_ the torches were out. There was no light bleeding in from the central stair, or through any of the windows.

She crept out, letting the door creak closed behind her.

The darkness was unsettling; the castle more like a massive cave than a building. Her ears pricked for a sound, some indicator the disturbance had been noted, but the silence was all-encompassing.

Two steps away from the door. Her heart had started pounding at some point, loud enough to be audible in the quiet.

And then, far off in the castle, someone screamed. Shrill, muffled by distance, but still enough to make Harry jump and gasp, her back to the wall.

Part of her, a calm, rational, stereotypically Ravenclaw voice, was certain that this was just a Halloween prank. Some grand display for the feast, designed to scare everyone.

But it didn’t _feel_ like that.

It hadn’t sounded like a fun scream. And why was every single light out?

Her fingers twitched. There were spells. Lumos. Incendio. Solas Realta. Lux Manum. Any of which would burn away the dark and give her a way to see where she was going.

And then what?

Descending the labyrinth of stairs to get to the Great Hall- assuming the stairs were even functioning. Seeking out a teacher.

Another scream. This one masculine, hoarse with agony.

Harry drew a shaky breath.

She turned on her heel and walked back to Fluffy’s door. Fumbling in the dark for the knob. Her fingers had just touched metal when footsteps echoed down the corridor.

She looked up.

Someone was running down the hall, but it was too dark to see- her eyes flicked towards shadowy patches, trying to glimpse whoever it was.

Ragged breathing. The sound of robes dragging and swishing.

Harry raised a hand, preparing to cast. The first motes of Lumos flickered into being around her, suddenly, blindingly bright after so long in the night.

The figure- impossible to see through her ruined nightvision, but it was there, a dozen feet away.

“ _Reis!_ ”

Magic hooked around her and pulled. The Lumos burst apart into nothing. Her shoes dragged across stone, rubber shrieking, and then she left the floor entirely to slam against the far wall.

Harry cried out as her head and back impacted, her vision rolling sickeningly under the pain. She tried to clutch her skull, but her hands were pressed flat, like gravity itself had turned against her.

Footsteps shuffled to a stop in front of her.

She blinked away tears, trying to make out the figure in the darkness.

There was an instant where she could see dark robes, and above them, the sallow face of Professor Snape, and then his wand was aimed squarely at her chest.

“Pr-professor?” She could taste blood again. A bitten tongue. “...why?”

He hesitated, determined expression falling away, replaced with a stunned blankness.

“Potter.”

His wand hadn’t faltered.

“What were you doing?”

Harry tried to shake her head- couldn’t. The throb of pain even attempting it gave was nauseating. “Nothing.”

At her throat, Blackscale was wriggling feebly, just as restrained as she was. Snape saw the snake and his face darkened. “Bullesco.”

His magic slid in between them and jerked Blackscale away. A bubble, blue-green, formed around the snake, floating up to stick to the ceiling.

“No!” Harry shouted. “Bring him back!”

Snape’s hand found the neck of her robes. He pulled, lifting her up to his level, stale breath in her face. Up-close, he looked dreadful. The skin around his mouth was raw and inflamed, and half the veins in his left eye had burst, red star-bursts on white. Even his robes were dirty, the front smeared with something foul, chunks of wet matter that stank of vomit.

“Tell me what you were doing.”

“Nothing!” Her voice was hoarse, a shriek in her ears. “I was visiting Fluffy and you attacked me!”

“I have no time for your childish games, Potter,” Snape said, grinding out the words. “Someone thought it would be amusing to _poison_ the entire Halloween feast. Myself included. And here I find you. Not at dinner. Out of bounds, casting magic at the door to the most secure location in the castle. Almost as if the feast was nothing but a distraction. Who told you to come here?”

“I was visiting Fluffy!”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Liar. The beast is too vicious for anyone to approach. Were you supposed to find a way past it?”

The hot, impotent anger that filled her only hurt more when the tears started in. But he wasn’t hearing her. No matter what she said, he just kept snarling at her. She just shook her head, throat and eyes burning.

“Tell me, you stupid, little girl,” Snape said, sneering. “There is too much at stake here. If you won’t tell the truth, you force my hand. Look at me.”

His hand snapped up, catching her chin, turning her face toward his. Harry shut her eyes. She knew what was coming. She struggled, trying to summon her magic to push him away, to stop this, but the focus required was buried beneath terror.

“Look. At. Me!”

 _“_ _No! Stop it!”_

Rough, cold fingers on her cheeks, and then his thumbs pressed to her eyelids. Tears bubbled over.

Their eyes met.

She screamed.

XXX

Memory rushed up and devoured her. A roar of past days, flashes of images and scenes and sounds blurring into a cacophony.

“Not Har-” “-rriet.” “Riddle!” “Useless girl.” “Car crash.” “cupboard.” “Speaker?” “Ouro-” “Serpensortia!”

She was drowning. There was no reality outside the torrent in her head. Snape’s magic was flowing in and tearing her apart, cutting to the very depths of _Her_.

His voice echoed through her skull. _‘Show me who sent you. Who wants the stone?’_

Snape was pulling up memories, sifting and discarding faster than she could comprehend them.

A park- climbing a stairwell- making dinner- the orphanage- catching a snake behind the chapel- Blackscale laughing at her- telling him stories- whispering in Parseltongue-

He was getting closer. She could sense it in the way his focus narrowed, refining toward a particular venue of thought. There was a memory drawing near. A bright, shining memory, the details sharpened by the times she’d revisited it.

Quirrel. Narrow face split with a thin smile. His praise. His words and his magic.

It was their secret.

It was not for Snape.

 _‘_ _Show me.’_

_No._

_‘Who sent you?_ _Who gave you that name?!_ _’_

_No._

There was no turning him away, no way to push him out. He was stronger in every conceivable way.

There was only one refuge.

 _Get out. Get out get out getoutgetoutget-_ _§_ _el_ _ǐ_ _s_ _ǐ_ _m-_ _ȿǐε §_ _el_ _ǐ_ _s_ _ǐ_ _m-_ _ȿǐε §_ _el_ _ǐ_ _s_ _ǐ_ _m-_ _ȿǐε_ _._

Snape’s intrusion paused.

 _‘_ _What is this?’_

 _Ƨǽ-ȿǐ_ _,_ _šƨ_ _άѳ._ _§_ _el_ _ǐ_ _s_ _ǐ_ _m-_ _ȿǐε!_

 _‘_ _What are you doing, Potter?_ _I am trying to help you._ _You’_ _ve been bewitched_ _!_ _This will not-’_

But his violation had stopped. He was recoiling, trying to regroup.

Harry kept repeating it, the parseltongue a mantra, a common thread overriding all thought.

 _§_ _el_ _ǐ_ _s_ _ǐ_ _m-_ _ȿǐε §_ _el_ _ǐ_ _s_ _ǐ_ _m-_ _ȿǐε §_ _el_ _ǐ_ _s_ _ǐ_ _m-_ _ȿǐε §_ _el_ _ǐ_ _s_ _ǐ_ _m-_ _ȿǐε §_ _el_ _ǐ_ _s_ _ǐ_ _m-_ _ȿǐε §_ _el_ _ǐ_ _s_ _ǐ_ _m-_ _ȿǐε §_ _el_ _ǐ_ _s_ _ǐ_ _m-_ _ȿǐε §_ _el_ _ǐ_ _s_ _ǐ_ _m-_ _ȿǐε_

Snape’s fury poured through his magic. He was pushing, but there were no memories for him to grasp. She focused on the words and let everything else fall away. The sibilant noise. Vibration in her lips and tongue.

He swore and redoubled. There was pain now, a terrible wrenching in her head and in her magic.

And then there was something else.

Another magic. A thrum against hers. Far off, drawing rapidly nearer.

Her mantra faltered, and Snape nearly broke through into her thoughts again, but there was surprise tinging his mind now. Shock, and then- a different sort of anger.

_He withdrew._

XXX

She was on the floor. That thought alone penetrated the haze of pain she returned to. There was more blood in her mouth and nose, clogging her sinuses. The nails-on-bone feeling of a migraine was in full force, and it was only as she curled up, clutching her head, that she realized she was able to move freely.

There was vibration in the stones beneath her.

Her eyelids split slowly, even the darkness of the hall too bright.

A blurred shape moved above her. Another, beyond it, gestured back. There was shouting, a vacuous roar that her brain couldn’t even begin to interpret.

She shut her eyes again.

The noise and clamor faded into white noise.

Harry held her skull and waited for the pain to ease.

 _“_ _Speaker.”_ A scaled body brushed against her forearm. She jerked, unfolding just enough to grope blindly on the floor. Her hand found Blackscale’s back, and she snatched him up, letting him slide back beneath her robes.

 _“_ _You are safe,”_ he whispered. _“_ _Your sire is here.”_

She barely heard him. A free hand patted the front of her robes- the hatchling was still there, wriggling in her pocket. Unharmed. Harry let out a breath.

 _“_ _Harry.”_ Quirrel’s voice this time, so soft she could barely hear it. His hand pressed to her shoulder a moment later- she jerked, but it didn’t draw away. The contact was like a rush of ice water- his presence washing away the worst of the pain, blunting the edges and soothing the heat.

“Hospital wing,” he murmured, speaking English now. “Severus, what in the hell were you thinking? She’s only a child!” His hand left her – Harry groaned in spite of herself – only to return. He slid an arm under her back, the other against her legs, and lifted.

The motion made the room spin even with her eyes closed, and she curled up tighter, thumbs jammed into her temples.

He walked.

Things blurred.

XXX

A heartbeat.

Soft and steady. The metronome that she set her breath by. The pain was a little less with each exhale.

He had his hand against the back of her neck, fingers contouring the skin, thumb rubbing gentle circles in her hair. It was _more_ , this close to him, more than it had been. Something bone deep. Like sinking into sleep.

His heartbeat.

The unfamiliar warmth of another’s body against hers. Pressed to his chest as he carried her.

Carried her away-

-away from-

She blinked. The world sharpened. Darkened corridors, dim silver in the moonlight.

 _“_ _Professor?”_

_“Just a little bit further.”_

She shut her eyes again, letting his touch press fingers into her brain and wipe away the world.

It was only too soon before a door creaked open and interrupted her reverie. A sharp, chemical smell, and stones so steeped in a clean, clear magic that they were permanently whitened.

When she opened her eyes this time, everything was wavering. The hospital wing swam in and out of focus, patches of shadow smearing across her vision. Trying to interpret it made her skull ache, driving spikes into the backs of her eyes until she closed them.

 _“_ _’fessor,”_ she rasped. The parseltongue came out slurred. _“I feel- feel terrible.”_

 _“_ _I know.”_ He hadn’t stopped tracing patterns in her hair, but he’d stopped walking. _“_ _Go to sleep for me, Harry.”_ His thumb stilled.

“Ad Morphea.”

His magic pulsed through her once, lighting up nerves and curling toes, and then sinking into her, soft and insistent.

The sound of his heartbeat chased her all the way down.

XXX

A brush.

Something unfamiliar. Contact. Probing.

 _No_.

It was- again.

_No!_

Someone was- their magic on her-

Her own power surged, forcing the intruder away, raw panic overriding conscious thought.

Harry shot up in bed, heart explosive, already trying to run. Hands caught at her, pressing her back, and she cried out, trying to break away.

“Miss Riddle! Calm yourself!” a woman shouted. The grip tightened, a man’s hands holding her fast, drawing forth an animal whine from her throat.

 _“_ _Speaker, they try to aid you!”_ Blackscale’s voice, and the protective torque of him around her throat were enough to make her freeze. Her eyes finally caught up with her, the room slowly coming into focus, bringing with it the angry throb of her migraine.

Harry turned her head to see her attackers. Madame Pomfrey stood on the opposite side of the bed, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. The one holding her was an unfamiliar wizard. Baby-faced and blond, with emerald green robes. At second glance, the man had an odd bandoleer filled with glass potion vials, and a patch over his heart- a wand crossed with a bone.

“All with us, darling?” he asked.

After a moment, she nodded jerkily.

The man grinned and let go of her. Harry, after a glance at the two adults, slid back to the edge of her bed and sat down, stroking Blackscale. The comforting texture of his scales gave her something to focus on, her rapid breaths slowing little by little.

“I hope we didn’t frighten you.”

 _“_ _I- That’s- okay.”_

The wizard recoiled. “What in the- Pomfrey, I thought she was healed?”

Madame Pomfrey tapped her nail against her clipboard. “She’s fine, Mister Sedgewick. Miss Riddle, please return to English so we can finish your exam.”

It took her a moment to understand. And another to force her speech back, replacing smooth, sliding words with rough and glottal.

“I said I’m fine.”

“Zounds.” Sedgewick was blinking, somewhere between surprised and bemused. “That’s certainly-”

“Very good.” Pomfrey stepped forward, cutting off any more. “Secondary diagnostics, please.” She waved her wand at Harry, who flinched at the invasive magic and had to make a conscious effort not to force it away again. A second later, Sedgewick mimicked her, generating a scroll of parchment from his wand tip that he handed to the older woman.

The matron examined it, her face tight, before returning her attention to Harry.“I healed the worst of the bruising in your back and head while you slept. Any pain you’re experiencing right now should resolve with bed rest. No strenuous casting for at least 3 days, your reserves will be needed to help keep you healthy.”

“Okay.” As long as there wouldn’t be any more casting on her.

“Miss Riddle, I-” Pomfrey hesitated, glancing at the parchment again, before her face softened. “I need to move on. There are others I need to see to. But, if you are able, I’d like to meet with you as soon as this matter is resolved. It would be confidential. Just you and I, healer to patient.”

Harry curled in on herself. Teachers never wanted to speak to you alone unless it was bad. She was in trouble. Snape could have spun any number of stories already. And there was no denying that she had been in the forbidden corridor. Or perhaps Pomfrey would leave punishment to Flitwick, and this was just to examine her parseltongue ability like a particularly interesting medical specimen?

She didn’t know the woman well enough to answer, but Pomfrey seemed to take her stiff silence as answer enough. She nodded and swept away, moving on to the next bed.

“Get some rest, yeah?” Sedgewick shot her a wink before scurrying along after Pomfrey. Harry turned to watch them go, only to realize for the first time the state of the infirmary.

Every bed was filled.

The hospital wing had been deserted when she came in. The room now stretched on far longer than it had in the past, with many, many more beds, every one filled. As she watched, Professor McGonagall summoned three more into existence. The beds had no sooner skidded to a halt than they were occupied- injured students popping into them like bizarre fireworks.

Other teachers, it looked like most of them, minus, to her relief, Snape, had been drafted into service as well. A few beds away, Professor Sinistra was drawing signs in the air over a retching, wheezing Slytherin. There were a number of strangers among them, more adults in green robes like Sedgewick, who Harry supposed were wizarding doctors.

Her eye fell on the nearest bed. The occupant was sleeping uneasily, tossing and turning under the sheets. They rolled over, and Harry shivered, unable to stifle a gasp. She knew this girl. Not by name. But her face was familiar. A Gryffindor girl that she had Herbology with. A real know-it-all who Harry tried to avoid because she got a lot of attention from professors. Her face, normally so proud, so keen, was now puffy, her eyes swollen, cheeks shiny with fever sweat.

Without thought, Harry reached out, spreading her awareness to the girl. It- she drew back instantly, hissing. It was like reaching her hand into scalding water. The Gryffindor’s magic was on full-alert, mobilized to fight off whatever ailment she had, and was fiercely defensive of anything that might be a threat. How did the healers even work when their patients’ bodies were fighting off all-comers? The textbooks she’d read hadn’t covered that.

Across the room, someone moaned, their voice thick with pain. The sound seemed to kick off a chorus. Or perhaps Harry had simply been numb, trying to ignore the sounds. A groan. A low, keening wail. Someone screeching, far down the ward. A _hurk,_ and then the unmistakable sound of splattering vomit. The Gryffindor girl, silent, but for hands balling in sheets hard enough to make the cloth creak.

Harry listened, nausea and fear intertwined and surging in her throat, her head still throbbing. Snape had said the whole school was poisoned. But they weren’t all here. Had… were the ones who weren’t- were they dead? Or were the ones here going to die?

Across from the Gryffindor, an older boy sat up in bed. Another face. Robbie Celtran. A fifth year in her house who liked to make flashcards in return for spare change. He was shuddering under the sheets, his limbs quivering and spasming uncontrollably, even as his face grew red with the effort of trying to still himself.

And down the line. Was that the white-blond hair of Malfoy?

Was Su somewhere in here? Or Ron? Neville?

Her eyes burned. How many times did that make today? More than the last year combined. But… if she walked down the ward and saw one of her friends, it felt like the tears would just turn on and never stop. Like something would break, and she already felt so _brittle_.

She couldn’t stay here. Not in this- this sickbed.

She waited until Sinistra moved on to the next patient, her attention elsewhere.

Harry didn’t run. People looked at running things.

She walked briskly out of the hospital wing on legs like rubber.

XXX

The walk back to Ravenclaw was deathly silent, and Harry kept glancing over her shoulder. But the halls were empty, the torches relit. Whatever commotion had occurred seemed to be over.

The tower was the barest relief. There was no murmur of talk in the dorms, and even the fires were extinguished. The normally airy common room felt stagnant, the desks not so empty as deserted. The handful of magical signatures she could feel were subdued, either sleeping or laying unhappily awake. But they were there, and they were alive. Her fears that Hogwarts had turned into some kind of charnel house were soothed.

She found her room, locking the door behind her. Then she checked the dorm for anything out of the ordinary. Inch by inch, running her magic over the surfaces and furniture. Anything that might indicate an intruder. It was an impulse she didn’t quite understand, only that she needed to know that she was alone. That she was safe.

There was more she wanted to do- to bathe and scrub away the infirmary and Snape’s magic on her, but the idea of straying out again was paralyzing.

There was too much of magic unknown. Snape had been an unknown.

Only when the room was secured did she set Blackscale down beside her pillow. The hatchling, who hissed grumpily at Harry when she pulled her free, was set beside the adder. It hadn’t been the ideal first day, and she was too exhausted at this point to put any thought into what to do with her.

Then she turned and, wand in hand for once, cast at the door. It was a crude transfiguration- the edges of the door melted into the frame, the wood taking on the properties of stone. If she was better at it, the entire door would have become indistinguishable from the wall, but the skill and knowledge were beyond her.

She did the same for the windows before firmly drawing the curtains. Only then did she shuck her robes and change into her night clothes.

For a while, she sniffled, staring blindly at the ceiling, too tired to even cry, and too numb to do more than wipe her cheeks once in a while.

Her thoughts, dragged down by exhaustion, became more and more confused, and when she finally drifted off, her dreams were such violent, chaotic messes that she woke at once, shivering.

Odd, out of sorts memories kept floating to the surface, like Snape had ripped them loose from their moorings. Flashes of horrible things she’d done her best to forget. Embarrassments and humiliations at the Dursleys, and worse- some shadowy, formless memories that seemed to contain only flashes of green light and screaming. Men and women whose faces she didn’t know, contorting and twisting in agony before finally being snuffed out with that hellish corpse-light. And then it was faces she _did_ know. Ron and Su and the Gryffindor girl, cheeks hollowed by sickness, withering and wasting before her eyes.

She woke from the dream. It was a long time before she could breathe.

XXX

The idea of returning to the nightmares was enough to make her sit up in bed and kick off the blankets.

 _“_ _Blackscale.”_ He lifted his head at once. Not sleeping either. _“Can you- can you just talk for a little bit?”_

The adder came and coiled in her lap, his weight just enough to hold her from getting up and pacing. An anchor against the fear.

 _“_ _Have I told you where snakes come from?”_ He paused, not because he expected her to answer, but because it was more dramatic. _“The first serpent was the Ouroboros. Not your sire. The_ _real thing_ _. He bit his tail and formed the bo_ _undaries of the universe. From there...”_

He talked.

Harry let it wash over her.

She did not try to sleep again.

XXX

Blackscale finally lost his voice, having grown hoarser and hoarser through his many, many stories about why snakes were perfect. He rasped to a halt, and she put a hand on his head, nodding to him.

The far horizon had grown slightly brighter, sunrise still far off. She slipped out of bed, and pulling on Blackscale like a scarf, departed her room.

The stone floors were chilly, making her birdstep her way to the bathroom. Normally, she’d worry about having to shower with someone else in the room, but it was uncomfortably the opposite today. Even early, there was usually some sense of life in the dorms. This morning, she felt like a ghost, haunting empty rooms in a dark tower.

The shower noise helped a bit.

She stayed under until her skin was lobster red, taking her time to get every trace of Halloween off. The blood dried under her nails was familiar. The grime from Fluffy’s room, expected. But the dingy, purpling bruise in the shape of a hand on her upper arm… that, she didn’t remember.

It wasn’t something she could scrub away, and, somehow, in the timeless, too-still of the early morning, she couldn’t recall a single thing she’d learned about healing.

Harry stood, shower pattering against the top of her head, studying the mark. Was she supposed to just go to class with him? Pretend it never happened?

Was she just supposed to let it keep happening?

XXX

The shower refreshed her just a little. It was something normal. The kind of thing she always did in the morning. Harry continued her routine by dressing, tying her hair back, and then grabbing her bag and the two snakes.

But the dorms were still too quiet, and she was still awake. Her brain was packed full of everything that had happened on Halloween, and without the buffer of sleep it was like living a single, endless day. Memories were piling up. The migraine had faded, less shooting or throbbing than just droning, a constant, low-level ache.

A notice had appeared on the common room bulletin board. Classes were canceled for the day. Harry stared at it blankly for a few moments before the words made sense. Of course they were.

She rubbed her eyes and headed for the door.

The walk down from the tower was more of the same. Eerie silence, with hallways too big and too empty. She felt strangely outside of herself. Different. Off. Her body felt somehow similar; too big and too small, like it was crushing down on her, but also as if she was apart from it, nothing more than a pair of eyes inhabiting a shell.

The thought it would take to plan a route was beyond her, so she wandered, taking stairs as they came. Little by little, descending. When her destination finally appeared around a corner, Harry found herself standing outside the door, unsure of what to even do.

Twice, she nearly turned on her heel and left. Both times, it was the soreness, the bruise on her arm that turned her back.

Finally, she gulped, swallowing her spit, thick and uneasy on an empty stomach, and knocked.

For a long moment there was silence.

And then a flickering, quavering spirit entered her field. A click, the lock sliding open, and then the door.

Quirinus Quirrel peered down at her, his face stubbly, his eyes sunken and heavy.

 _“_ _Sir. Please, I need-_ _I need your help.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This went through a FUCK TON of drafts. Like, there's at least 50 pages of drafts in my in-progress doc. Initial goals were to have this be the chapter where Harry and Quirrel finally get that sit-down talk, but it kept diverging too much. The backbone of this- Harry getting bummed over house elves and exploring, was a really early draft. 
> 
> Most of the middle ones were a lot more out there, mostly centered around Harry returning all those snakes she summoned by hand, ending up in the forbidden forest just in time for the school's Samhain celebration, with that Quirrel conversation finally happening.
> 
> That conversation was the original final segment to this chapter, following her into his office. But on my final pass on this draft, I realized it was already 9500 words, and I didn't want to make two chapters, so you get it cut off here we so we spend more time with Quirrel next time. 
> 
> If you're wondering why it took me so long... I wanted this chapter to be perfect. It was meant to be the moment where Harry finally falls under Quirrel's snares. An almost climactic moment in the story, and where things finally get started. So I wanted it to be flawless. What we ended up with... it's not perfect, but I'm fairly happy with what it is. I'll probably reuse most of the creepier Quirrel and Harry conversation material next chapter so it doesn't go to waste. He is such a fucking creepazoid... 
> 
> My one real disappointment here is that I'd been playing with having the troll show up somehow, with Fluffy busting out of his cell to defend Harry, papa wolf style. Almost ended up having him be the one to save Harry from Snape, not Quirrel. I'll probably keep Fluffy for later...
> 
> If you're wondering why Snape was such a nutter-butter? Dude just jammed a bezoar down his throat and made a beeline for the third floor corridor, and he's STILL shaking off the effects of poison. He's not thinking too rationally, and Harry is pretty goddamn suspicious. Not particularly a spoiler, as it's going to be the beginning of next chapter anyway, but he was fairly sure that Harry's weird behavior was the result of a Confundus or Imperious, and that's why he Legilimized her.


	9. 9

  
  
He shut the door behind her.  
  
Harry crept in like a mouse, glancing about.  
  
Quirrel’s office was on the far side of the castle, as of yet untouched by the sun. He had no torches or candles lit, and the interior was dim, shaded midnight blue by the light that did make it through the circular windows.  
  
The odor of garlic was less than she remembered, but that might have to do with him not wearing his turban.  
  
He wasn’t wearing robes either, just a slacks and a button-up shirt, both wrinkled like he’d slept in them. It made him look… diminished. Beneath the baggy shroud of his robes, he was skeletal, his limbs insectile, his skull nearly that.  
  
Actually, now that she looked at him, and at the door hanging ajar at the back of the office, it seemed more likely that she’d woken him.  
  
It was that door that he walked towards, turning midway to look at her.  
  
_“Are you coming?”_  
  
Harry scurried after.  
  
She lingered in the door for the briefest instant – his personal quarters, and him nearly a stranger – before reality caught up with her. She’d come here to ask him for help. If she was too afraid to follow him here, what sense was there in even coming to him?  
  
Once again, a door closed behind her.  
  
It was warmer in his rooms; not much, but enough to remind her of how drafty the castle was, and that she hadn’t bothered to dress for the weather before rushing out. She was still shivering beneath her robes, and the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail to hang in her face were unpleasantly damp.  
  
But cold didn’t stretch her nerves like piano wire. Cold didn’t make her feel like her eyes were barely glued in their sockets. They throbbed slightly, bloodshot veins protesting as she took in Quirrel’s chambers.  
  
His sitting room was circular, the walls bookshelved from floor to ceiling, broken by two other doors and a fireplace. It was dim, the only light coming from a solitary candle beside the right door, and a hazy glow from the banked embers in the hearth.  
  
Quirrel stood beside the fireplace, hand resting on the back of a loveseat. _“Come. Sit.”_  
  
She went to him. The loveseat was plush, cushioned enough to nearly swallow her up, and she had to perch on the edge, feet dangling. There was a smushed pillow to one side, and a quilt.  
  
A snap of his fingers had the fire burst back into life, the heat soaking into her bones. Harry groaned softly, squeezing fingers and toes as they thawed.  
  
Quirrel sank onto the loveseat beside her, rubbing at his eyes. It was only when he looked up that she realized how worn he looked. It was more than her simply waking him prematurely. There were lines in his face that hadn’t been there last she saw him, and his posture wasn’t its usual razor-sharpness. He’d probably been up all night dealing with the poisoning.  
  
But he looked at her and said nothing.  
  
Harry looked back, body warming, hands clenched in armpits defrosting. The heat was distracting. No- it was more than that. The softness of the loveseat, the fire, his patient gaze on her. Everything. Too much.  
  
A dam broke. Her eyes burned, the room suddenly swimming. She swallowed, fighting back a lump. Stupid, senseless tears.  
  
There were things that she’d wanted to say. Questions that she’d been meaning to ask for weeks. But now that she was actually here, all she could do was try not to blub like a baby. It was dumb. She _felt_ dumb for doing it, but they were out of her control. She was too tired. Too _weary_. The headache Snape had caused was still hanging about in the space behind her eyes, in the muscle of her jaw.  
  
Quirrel was so close to her, still watching and waiting. The couch wasn’t big. Less than an arm’s length between them.  
  
If she reached out, would his magic soothe her as it had last night? Would it warm her as the fire did? It had dulled the pain. He’d protected her. Kept her safe.  
  
Her hand rose, fingers trembling.  
  
Just for a moment.  
  
And then she caught it, pressed it back into her lap. Bowed her head so he couldn’t see her face. Focused on Blackscale, fingers tracing his scales. The embarrassment was just enough to push back the tears.  
  
_“I would assume,”_ Quirrel said, tone carefully neutral, _“that you’re here to speak to me about last night.”_  
  
The rush of stupid, simple gratitude at him ignoring her was nearly enough to send her over the edge again. Instead, she swallowed. Petted Blackscale. Couldn’t quite cough up the words in response, so she jerked a nod.  
  
_“Before I answer your questions, answer a few for me.”_ He waited until she nodded once more before continuing. _“Did Pomfrey finish treating you?”_  
  
She didn’t know. The hospital wing was a blur of memory. What had Madame Pomfrey said? And the other healer- he’d had a name, but everything was indistinct now, lost in a moment that felt somehow days and seconds ago. But Harry had done a runner all the same.  
  
She shook her head.  
  
_“Did you sleep at all last night? And we aren’t counting when I enchanted you. Ad Morphea is not restful in the same way normal sleep is.”_  
  
_“An hour,”_ she whispered. _“Maybe.”_  
  
_“Insomnia, nightmares, or both?”_  
  
_“Dreams.”_  
  
Quirrel sighed, rubbing his temples. _“Of course. What you’re experiencing are the symptoms of mental damage.”_ Harry gasped, but Quirrel cut her off. _“Not mental illness, girl. Injury. A mental attack causes mental injury. You’re as sane as I am._  
  
_“What Severus did to you was called Legilimency. The magic of invading another’s mind to read their thoughts and memories.”_ His eyes were on her. Black. Iris and pupil one shade. Harry forced herself to meet them. He was not Snape. _“Severus thought you were under the Imperius Curse to try and get past the dog.”_  
  
_“How do I stop it?”_ Twice now, and she’d been powerless. If Quirrel hadn’t come… The stomach-turning brush of Snape’s magic, probing, like clutching hands on her skin. Tearing into her like talons.  
  
But Quirrel could do it too.  
  
_“You seemed to do well enough last night,”_ he said. _“There are few wizards who could keep out Severus, and none your age. You used parseltongue to mask your thoughts, did you not?”_  
  
She nodded frantically, words beginning to tumble out of her. _“Yes, but it barely worked. He still got- there has to be a better way!”_  
  
_“You’re correct._ _Parseltongue was an unorthodox move. You caught him off-guard, but if he’d pushed, if he’d had time-”_ If Quirrel hadn’t come _“-he’d have broken through. The techniques normally used to counter Legilimency are called Occlumency.”_  
  
Harry leaned forward, facing him fully for the first time since they’d sat down. _“You know it. Occlumency.”_  
  
It was not a question, and his widening smirk told her she was correct.  
  
_“Any wizard with secrets to keep should know how to shield their mind. And you want me to show you how.”_  
  
_“Yes.”_ She stopped. Licked sun-split lips. _“I mean- can you please teach me Occlumency?”_  
  
His smile was thin enough to slide between ribs. _“I would be happy to. However-”_ He held up a hand, cutting off her shout of thanks. _“Occlumency is not a one-off lesson. It’s the work of months of instruction and effort, much of it in your free time, but still a significant investment of time on my part.”_  
  
_“Oh.”_  
  
_“I wasn’t refusing.”_  
  
She jerked upright. _“Sir!”_  
  
His eyebrows rose. _“Don’t interrupt, Harry, I wasn’t finished._ _Learning to shield your mind means having to practice defending it. Which means I would be performing Legilimency on you repeatedly, seeing your thoughts and memories until you progress enough to drive me out.”_ He was speaking softly, his voice a hiss barely audible over the fire. _“It would not be as painful as when Snape did it, but there would be no secrets between us. No privacy.”_  
  
That hadn’t stopped him before. He wasn’t doing it now, but she was only certain of that because she was stretched taut for anything remotely touching her mind.  
  
He’d saved her last night.  
  
But could she endure another session, another intrusion?  
  
_“I thought so,”_ he said, seeming to read her hesitation. _“If you do not feel up to it, there are books in the library on Occlumency.”_  
The mind was so complex… how arcane would magic involving it be? She had trouble reading texts meant for her age group. Occlumency books would probably be like the time she’d cracked open a seventh-year’s book on advanced arithmancy. A dense, inscrutable network of symbols and signs that she couldn’t even begin to interpret.  
  
_“Would that be a viable way to learn it?”_ she asked.  
  
Quirrel’s thin shoulders rose the barest amount possible for a shrug. _“Doubtful. I attempted to learn both Legilimency and Occlumency when I was a little older than you. It wasn’t until I began practicing on others that I made progress.”_  
  
So she could _maybe_ muddle through Occlumency on her own, but it would never stand up to Snape, who’d probably had years to master Legilimency. Who else out there knew how to do it? How long until someone else peeled her mind apart for a laugh?  
  
Her gaze swept around the parlour as she thought. Quirrel’s bookshelves were neat and orderly, but packed to the brim. It was too dim to read the titles clearly, but the spines she could see were old and worn, marked with strange runes and calligraphy. She could feel them on the air, magic as ancient and musty as the pages, but still as palpable as incense. His rooms were steeped in it.  
  
A lifetime of magical experience.  
  
What other magics was she ignorant of, just waiting for another Snape to come along? Next time might be worse.  
  
She found herself looking at Quirrel. Really, truly looking at him. Firelight cast dancing patterns of orange and red and black across his skin, making him look older, stranger, turning his dark eyes crimson. But his gaze was steady and intense. Waiting for her response.  
  
There were strings here. She understood that. No one made an offer like this without getting something from it. He’d said himself that this was a huge timesink on his end, but he was still interested. He wanted something from her.  
  
And she couldn’t find it in herself to care.  
  
She was so tired of these endless mysteries. Tired of being afraid, of having to doubt her every action.  
  
So he’d be reading her mind. It wasn’t like he didn’t know all her secrets that mattered already. Quirrel even seemed to prefer Harry Riddle to Harriet Potter, and that- that was… a relief. He was someone she didn’t have to lie to, and _God_ , she was so exhausted of deception.  
  
She was wary of this man and his motives. But every time she closed her eyes, she was back in the third floor hallway, having Snape’s filthy magic dig its claws into her. It hurt to think of, but she couldn’t _stop_ doing it. And redirecting her thoughts was a constant burden, the memories raw and inflamed, not allowed to scab.  
  
It had only been a few hours. How long until she _had_ to sleep? Or worse- what if she couldn’t? Night after night, tearing herself awake from emerald nightmares and Snape’s predations.  
  
Whatever cost he asked couldn’t be any worse than Snape.  
  
What had happened couldn’t happen again.  
  
Harry looked at Quirrel. And perhaps he saw what she was feeling, because he wasn’t smiling now.  
  
His gaze locked with hers. _“Regardless of your decision, Harry, I’ll be treating the wounds Snape left on your mind._ _My first exposure to Legilimency was not dissimilar to yours. The pain fades, but you never forget how it felt.”_ He tapped one finger against his temple. _“But your mind is an open book. And until you can close it, the world will continue to plunder_ _freely._  
  
What finally clinched it was a simple understanding, one that had her rise from the couch and step before him.  
  
If he wanted to hurt her, he wouldn’t need to trick her to do it. There was an unassailable gap between the power of a child and an adult. That was something she’d known long before Snape. Learning magic had just let her forget it for a time.  
  
And perhaps… just maybe, she wanted to know that someone was looking out for her.  
  
_“Teach me Occlumency. Please.”_ Her voice cracked on the last word, turning it into a gasp.  
  
_“I will teach you anything,”_ he murmured, seeming to savor the thought. _“Everything and more. Power to satisfy any desire. Magic far beyond the comprehension of small men like Severus Snape. The strength to never be at another’s mercy again.”_ His eyes, his focus on her, the dark, steady gravity of his magic. _“Would you like that, Harry?”_  
  
Very slowly, Harry nodded her assent.  
  
The fire caught the side of his face as he turned, cheekbone and chin and eye socket suddenly harsh and shadowed; the far side lost in gloom. The grinning, avaricious shape of the skull beneath the skin felt a much truer face for whoever this man was, and she found herself suddenly certain that he wanted this just as much as she did.  
  
_“I accept,”_ he said.  
  
A final nod, and then she was bowing her head lower. _“Thank you, sir.”_ She was trying to sound grateful, but the words came out heavy and exhausted. Willing or not, Snape had forced her down this road.  
  
_“Rise.”_ The skull was impassive, even as Quirrel’s face smiled contentedly. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. _“Tell me, have you had breakfast yet?”_  
  
XXX  
  
Apparently Hogwart’s staff could summon house elves at will. Quirrel had carefully ushered Harry out of sight ( _“Let this meeting be our little secret.”)_ before calling one. The batty little creature that appeared, bowed, heard his command, and then vanished, reappearing less than thirty seconds later with a full tray of breakfast food.  
  
The scent of it, thick and greasy, was slowly filling the parlour. Harry picked at her plate, shunting eggs to bacon and back again, nerves and nausea holding any appetite firmly at bay.  
  
Quirrel, who had ordered a coffee, had proceeded to ignore it, instead picking up vial after vial from his potions rack and setting them beside Harry’s plate.  
  
_“Where to begin,”_ he murmured, more to himself than her. _“It’s been too long since I’ve taken an apprentice.”_  
  
Harry dropped her fork with a clatter. _“Apprentice?”_  
  
Quirrel was currently out of her line of sight, but she could _feel_ the flat stare he directed at her. _“When an older, more experienced practitioner takes a novice to teach and instruct, that is typically considered an apprenticeship. You didn’t honestly think I’d spend all this time on you just for Occlumency? I’d be a glorified tutor. When I said I would teach you anything, I meant it.”_  
  
She’d been largely numb since the night before. Fear and anxiety, mixed with sadness and exhaustion had driven everything else out. Even their agreement had been an exercise in desperation and resignation.  
  
His words shattered the malaise. The rush of hungry greed that swept through her was enough to overcome even the crippling exhaustion dragging her ever-down.  
  
Harry stood up, nearly knocking over potions, tea, pumpkin juice.  
  
_“Anything,”_ she repeated. _“And if I wanted you to teach me other things?”_ Harry stopped to swallow, to put her words in order. _“Like- survival spells. I want to be able to live on my own- alone, in the wild if I need to.”_  
  
Quirrel raised his head from where he’d been examining a glass of blue-gray liquid. _“Planning on running away?”_  
  
Harry hesitated. She didn’t want to say too much. But he would probably see it in her mind eventually anyway.  
  
_“I don’t like the place I live. I thought if I learned enough magic. Learned the right spells, I could just… leave it behind.”_  
  
It sounded stupider out loud. Enough that she was sure he’d laugh and call her a child.  
  
_“I tried something very similar when I was your age,”_ Quirrel mused. _“But the Ministry put a stop to it quick enough. There’s a Trace on underage wizards. If you want to get anywhere, we’ll need to remove it.”_ He smiled, potions passing through his thin fingers with casual grace. _“And yes, I can do that, Harry. That actually helps provide some direction on what you’ll be learning. The Trace first, and then we’ll bond your familiar. Or would you prefer the latter first?”_  
  
_“Familiar?”_  
  
She’d heard the word before, usually referring to Blackscale, but it didn’t have any context that she understood.  
  
_“A magical servant. In your case, the snake that you hatched for me.”_  
  
_“Oh. Oh- I completely forgot!”_ Harry fished into her pocket and pulled out the hatchling, holding her out to him.  
  
He raised an eyebrow. _“What am I supposed to do with that?”_  
  
_“She’s yours?”_ Harry said, faltering. She was sort of nebulous on the whole ownership thing. Yes, by human standards, she owned Blackscale, but she didn’t own him.  
  
Quirrel gave a dismissive wave. _“She’s going to be your familiar. Consider her a belated birthday gift.”_  
  
The words took a moment to parse.  
  
Her eyes went wide, and, half-disbelieving, she slowly drew the baby back to her chest.  
  
An irrational part of her was whispering that this would be the point where he would snatch it away. Laugh at her for thinking she got birthday presents. Even if it was months late, she’d never- July 31st had always been an ordinary day. The Dursleys made sure she knew it was nothing special.  
  
Her fingertips closed around the thin tendon of the hatchling’s body.  
  
God, it was so small.  
  
_“Th-thank you, sir. It’s- I mean…Thank you,_ ” she breathed.  
  
_“Her name is Nagini. She’s a magical breed of my own creation, so I would recommend you not let her bite anyone you value.”_  
  
Harry nodded rapidly to that, and returned the hatchling- Nagini to her pocket. The little snake curled up almost at once and went still.  
  
The tension in her chest at this strange man thawed away, replaced with a dawning warmth that just happened to correspond with the tiny body pressed to her heart. Even the name felt right. Nagini. In parseltongue it was short and sleek, curling off the lips like smoke.  
  
For the first time since she entered his office, Harry was certain she’d made the right choice.  
  
Her eyes were itching again.  
  
Harry padded toward him. There’d been something she’d meant to tell him at the start.  
  
_“Sir. You saved me last night.”_ Parseltongue felt right. Words in their tongue, meant only for his ears. _“And you took me as an apprentice. And now this, and- I just can’t thank you enough.”_  
  
Before she could talk herself out of it, she was lunging forward. Quirrel stiffened, eyebrows rising, and then Harry wrapped her arms around his waist. Her face pressed into his chest, much as it had the night before.  
  
If she counted Hagrid, was Quirrel the second person she’d ever hugged? The feeling was strange. But nice. Like an ache she hadn’t known she’d had was easing. He smelled like old books and ink, undercut with a hint of sweat, and his magic was thrumming just beneath his skin, a black shroud that had reached out to brush at her when she touched him.  
  
Quirrel was motionless against her, but just as Harry drew back, his hands came up to catch the center of her back.  
  
_“My last apprentice did something very similar when I first took her under my wing,_ ” Quirrel said, chest gently humming with his voice. _“Bella tried to stab me though. I would ask that you not imitate her in that.”_  
  
For the first time that day, Harry found a laugh brewing. The terror wasn’t gone yet, but it had retreated, lurking in a third-floor hallway at the back of her mind. Beneath the sound of his heart, it was barely noticeable at all.  
  
XXX  
  
When they separated, the moment passing, Quirrel was all-business again. He began passing her the potions he’d selected, and instructing her on their use.  
  
Her favorite was definitely the Dreamless Sleep potion. There was apparently only enough to last for a week or so, and after that she was going to be relying on meditation and Occlumantic techniques, but a week of sleep was a week of sleep.  
  
Quirrel moved on to picking books off his shelves for her, in a display of generosity that nearly had her dropping the potions. Her first primer was going to be ‘Obscuring the Oculus,’ used to gain a basic understanding of what Occlumency was and how it was meant to work. The theory and context behind what she’d be learning.  
  
She’d just cracked the spine when there was another loud pop. Both of them started, Harry nearly dropping the book, Quirrel spinning, hand twisting like he was about to rip the air.  
  
“Professor Quirrel, sir.” A house elf had appeared in the office. Not the same as before- this one was male to the other’s female, and this one wore a small sauce-pan like a hat. “Headymaster Dumbledore is callings a staff meeting.”  
  
Quirrel adjusted, face sliding into the vaguely confused expression he seemed to wear around others. “W-when?”  
  
“Eight o’clocks, sir.”  
  
All three of the occupants in the parlour turned to look at the clock above the mantle. The meeting was barely a quarter hour away.  
  
“I w-will b-be there shortly,” Quirrel said. “W-were there any documents the h-headmaster n-needed?”  
  
The elf shook his head, ears flopping. “Just a meetings, sir.”  
  
“V-very good. J-just one more thing, elf.” Quirrel’s wand was in his hand, but Harry hadn’t seen him draw it. “ _Obliviate.”_  
  
The elf stuttered to a halt, large eyes drooping. Quirrel waved a hand at Harry, who after a moment of confusion, scurried into the elf’s blindspot. The professor stared into its face for a moment, lips moving soundlessly, and then he snapped his fingers.  
  
“Elf, I said you were d-dismissed. S-stop dallying.”  
  
The creature startled, blinking rapidly. “Sorry, sir.” He bowed, and then without rising, vanished into the ether.  
  
_“What was that about? Should I not be here?”_ Harry said, still off-guard by the whole thing.  
  
Hapless Professor Quirrel sloughed away like old skin. His wand was still in hand, polished wood rolling between ivory fingers. _“It would be for the best if your lessons with me, and your apprenticeship are kept as secret as possible. If anyone asks in the future about our meetings, you had questions about dark creatures and I’ve been helping you with some independent research.”_  
  
_“I wasn’t planning on telling anyone.”_ Harry paused, frowning as she thought about it. _“Is Occlumency illegal?”_  
  
He smirked. _“Not as illegal as what Severus did to you. He’s lucky that Dumbledore will probably cover it up. But Occlumency says that you have secrets to hide. It invites observation. As for the realm of illegality… removing the Trace is for sure. Bonding Nagini is in a gray area unless they’ve banned it since last I checked. And we’re not going to be drawing lines in your teachings between legal and illegal, light or dark. Magic is magic, Harry.”_  
  
She shrugged, not really sure what to say. She didn’t know enough magic to even really say what illegal magic or dark magic would look like.  
  
But Quirrel was turning away, muttering to himself as he gathered paperwork. _“I need to attend that meeting. You are free to go on your way, though I’d suggest resting. When I return, we can begin your first lesson.”_  
  
_“We could meet again at noon?”_ she suggested.  
  
_“I was going to say before dinner.”_ He pointed to the breakfast tray. _“Take some of that with you; use the Dreamless Sleep if you need it. Bonding a familiar is demanding, and I don’t want you fatigued.”_  
  
She nodded, trying to hide her frown as she began picking over the food.  
  
Quirrel disappeared into his rooms for a few minutes before reemerging, now in robes and turban, his face holding a bit more color. Harry, who hadn’t managed to do more than nibble, hurriedly began piling things onto a plate.  
  
_“Sorry, sir, I can go. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”_  
  
That earned her another flat look. There was something in the edges of this one that she didn’t quite understand. _“Finish your meal. I’ll not have you going hungry.”_ He turned, robes billowing, and strode to the door.  
  
_“If you decide to leave the office, close the door behind you and lock it. The password is ‘Nahash.’”_ Quirrel paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. _“And don’t enter my chambers. I haven’t keyed you into the wards yet.”_  
  
_“Yes, sir.”_ Harry set down her glass of pumpkin juice. Gulped. _“Goodbye, sir.”_  
  
_“Goodbye, Harry.”_  
  
XXX  
  
She was just beginning to choke down a rasher when something caught her attention.  
  
A faint tapping, just at the edge of hearing.  
  
Harry stood, head cocked.  
  
_Tap tap tap_  
  
Not in the parlour.  
  
She tiptoed to the door of Quirrel’s office. Waited.  
  
The sound came again, a bit louder.  
  
Harry opened the door. The sun had risen enough that the office had a bit more light, though the windows were still rimed with frost. Something shifted on the sill outside the nearest one, and Harry drew back in surprise.  
  
A pale owl sat on the sill, a letter in its beak. As she stared, the bird pecked the glass once more.  
  
Harry hustled over and opened the window, wincing at the rush of winter air after the warmth of the parlour. The owl hopped in, fluttering awkwardly, and to her surprise, dropped the letter at Harry’s feet. It hooted, and then turned and departed with a rustle of feathers.  
  
Harry, frowning, bent to pick up the envelope. Was the owl that lazy that it just shunted the letter off on the first person it saw? It was Quirrel’s office, so it was probably his letter, after all. Perhaps some staff correspondence not urgent enough for a house elf.  
  
Her frown deepened.  
  
The name written on the outside of the parchment was her own.  
  
Her birth name.  
  
XXX  
  
XXX  
  
Holy JESUS, this one was an ordeal. Imagine all my anxiety over the previous chapter, amplified. This one needed to be absolutely perfect because it’s so vital, and it’s still not quite there. However, I’m incredibly tired of beating this thing to death and letting the story stall, so here we go.  
  
Expect possible edits if someone points out something I’ve missed, because this is one of those things where it’s been rewritten so many times I can’t see the forest for the trees anymore.  
  
So… yes and no, it did take me this long to write the chapter, but part of that was just not writing much of anything at all- I was gaming heavily, and sometimes hobbies shift priority, you know? The vast majority of this was complete some time ago, and was gradually refined over hundreds of pages of rewrites into what it is now.  
  
Sorry for the length- it was meant to be equivalent to what came before it, but this section demanded all my time thus far, and what came after hasn’t had very much attention at all in comparison, so it’s not ready. The next chapter will NOT be as long in coming- this chapter, a sort of spiritual turning point in the story, was very, very important to get absolutely right for me, and now that we’re over the hump, things are going to be smoother. I already have the majority of what was the rest of the chapter written, so I’m very optimistic there.  
  
...if you’re wondering what ate up so much of my time on gaming, blame Monster Hunter, Dragon Age, Binding of Isaac, Etrian Odyssey, and Dark Souls, in that order. For whatever reason, I have an insatiable appetite of games that are obscenely long and difficult.

 

 


	10. 10

_Harriet_ _Potter_ _,_

_Please proceed to the Headmaster’s Office at_ _1_ _1_ _o’clock. The office is located behind the large gargoyle statue on the second floor, just beside the Charms Corridor. The password is ‘_ _Fizzing Whizzbee.’_

 

Harry stared. Reread the letter twice. Something cold and black and heavy was filling her insides.

After everything, now this.

Too much.

She opened her mouth to speak. To yell. Swear. Scream.

A faint, pained whine escaped her.

Her head was beginning to throb. The fragile dam she’d constructed was splitting.

The parchment dropped from trembling fingers.

She turned. Stumbled. Staggered back into Quirrel’s quarters. The sofa was there, open and inviting, warmed by the fire, still indented on one side where he’d sat.

The room wavered. Heat haze. Her eyes watering. Blackscale was talking to her, his words far-off nonsense.

The sofa.

Harry dropped blindly. She missed the loveseat entirely and landed with a grunt on the floor. One arm grabbed hold of the seat, keeping her from toppling into the hearth.

Knees to chest. Head to knees.

She breathed.

In trouble. Probably expelled. Going to be thrown out.

The headmaster.

Quirrel wasn’t here. He couldn’t protect her from this.

Breathing. Her heart aching, fast and birdlike, shaking brittle ribs.

Too fast. Too much.

Shouldn’t be this panicked.

The up and down. Despair and hope and then this.

Her breath wasn’t coming. It was like being legilimized again, trapped in her head as her thoughts ran wild.

Had to meet the headmaster. Going to be punished.

Would Snape be there?

The teachers had always been there when she went to the principal’s office in primary.

It-

She gritted her teeth, eyes watering, the images of past principals smearing and blurring, becoming Snape’s furious, bloody face.

_Look at me._

Too much. He’d done this to her. This mania.

_Mental attack causes mental-_

Blackscale sunk his teeth into her hand. Harry gasped, and then a shriek of pain ripped through the blockade in her throat.

The adder snarled something, the words muffled; he hadn’t let go, and his fangs were digging into her.

_“_ _Stop it!”_ she yelled.

He withdrew, a viscous strand of blood and saliva drawn between his teeth and her hand for a moment before it snapped. 

_“Have you stopped panicking?”_ he said. 

She clutched the wound.  _“Did you just poison me?!”_

Blackscale made a noise that translated as a huff.  _“Venom does not harm a speaker. You were afraid. Your fear smells terrible; like old mouse and bad meat.”_

_“_ _So I’m not going to die from you biting me?”_

He didn’t deign to answer, only looking at her, yellow eyed, waiting for a different response.

Harry swallowed. She took a breath. Then another, thoughts slowly settling. _“I- sorry. You wouldn’t do that to me. And you’re right, I was afraid.”_

The adder’s tongue flicked out. He said nothing, but he was still listening. She used the interval to jab fingers against the wound.

“Episkey.”

The bites closed. There was no sinister burn of poison, no ache in her hand. He really had dry-bitten her, then. Harry sighed and sat back against the couch.

The floor in front of the fire was warm, but the stones beneath her robes were still stone, and still chilly. The blend of temperatures was... helpful. Not cloying, but not frigid. It chilled the clammy sweat soaking her bandanna, but kept the ice in her chest from creeping out any further.

_“_ _I have to meet the headmaster.”_ She paused, trying to speak in a way he’d understand. _“He is very important, and very powerful. Probably the strongest wizard in the country, from what I’ve heard. And I’m probably in trouble.”_

Blackscale huffed again. _“So strike first._ _Even a boar can be felled with a bite it doesn’t see coming.”_

Harry groaned. _“Too late for that._ _Snape probably told him everything already.”_

Poisoning the headmaster against her certainly felt like something Snape’d do. A very Dursley-ish move. None of her old primary school principals had ever sided with her. Hogwarts had detention, but the third-floor floor corridor was _forbidden._ The serious kind that went beyond demerits.

There had been delinquents in primary who got kicked out.   
The thought had acid licking at the bottom of her throat.

Expulsion. After barely two months at Hogwarts.

_“_ _They will kill you?”_ Blackscale asked. _“Then why go?”_

_“They’re not going to kill me. But they-”_ Harry hesitated.  _“They might expel me. Throw me out of the school.”_

She ought to pack her bags now. It’d be easier than having to do it afterward. If they let her pack, and didn’t just toss her out on the lawn like rubbish.

_“_ _So they force you from your den. We will find another.”_

Harry pressed her hands to her eyes. He just didn’t understand. _“I can’t just_ leave! _I need to learn magic.”_

_“You can’t learn it in another den?”_

She could barely turn out the lights wandlessly. If she was expelled, she’d be back at the Dursleys. Hardly better than a muggle. But she couldn’t go back to that life. Not now. Not having seen magic, breathed a better air.

So no Dursleys, then. She’d be, what- on the streets in winter?

A calmer, cooler part of her brain perked up at that. The voice of survival. The voice that didn’t care about humiliation or shame or fear. It sounded a lot like Blackscale, and spoke up over the chaotic jumble of her thoughts.

_She’d survived worse._ There had been days she’d gone hungry, and times in the cupboard where she’d thought she’d go mad. A decade virtually alone. But she was here now.

She’d be on the streets. With a vault full of gold, and a famous name if she absolutely had to use it.

Harry stiffened, eyes widening. If it came down to it- would they really expel Harriet Potter, who the wizarding world seemed to view as one-part Merlin, two-parts Messiah?

_“_ _No,”_ she whispered. _“No, I don’t think they’ll expel me.”_

_“Then why do you still stink like a rat in a trap?”_

_“_ _Because...”_ She was still afraid. But why was she even in trouble? Snape had attacked _her_. She’d visited Fluffy tons of times. Hagrid had shown him to her! He was staff, wasn’t he?

She fell silent, straightening her bandanna as she thought.

What would expulsion mean? The loss of friends. Neville, Ron, Hagrid. A home, lost again. Her room. Not just a room. Not just a dorm. _Her room._ Where she was just beginning to memorize the patterns in the ceiling she fell asleep to. The room where Neville’s snake-vine grew on a bedside table, beside a couple bottles of wizarding nail-polish.

And Quirrel. Who made magic live up to its name, and whose magic made hers sing. Who was interested in her. Who cared what happened to her enough to save her.

Her hands closed, balling up fistfuls of robes.

_“_ _I’m still afraid because I don’t want to lose this life. I don’t want them to take it from me. Even the possibility is frightening.”_

Just because she could lose everything and keep going because she had magic, didn’t mean she wanted to.

A bit of warmth had crept into the cold fear. It was not a good warmth.

_“_ _And- and I’m tired of being afraid._ _”_

She exhaled at the thought, slowly sagging against the loveseat. All the weight of the night before and the morning, forgotten in her terror, had come rushing back.

Her eyes ached. Her hand throbbed. Everything hurt.

_“_ _I hate this.”_

Blackscale slid up and around, coiling over her wrists and palms.

_“_ _Your sire will help,”_ he said. He settled over her shoulders like a stole.

A steady, gentle weight. Enough to keep her grounded for now.

_“_ _He’ll help you shed this skin.”_

XXX

It was nearly nine when she finally stirred herself from in front of the fire.

As awful as it was to wait, sitting alone with her thoughts for another hour was worse.

There were things she needed to do before she met with the headmaster.

She had to know everyone was okay.

XXX

Blackscale, still at her throat, whispering soft, almost-reassuring things to her. Nagini, still too young to talk, threading her way through Harry’s fingers.

They’d met no one so far, and the hallways remained eerie and desolate. The castle felt hollow. She’d passed two floors, keeping the furthest distance from Fluffy’s hallway that she could, and was just crossing into the fifth.

The hospital wing wasn’t far now. Even if she couldn’t quite remember where it was, the halls hadn’t shifted from last night- Hogwarts wasn’t doing its usual shuffling mischief – and she could follow the faint odor of antiseptic and linen the rest of the way.

The letter, read and reread, was stuffed in one pocket, and just thinking of it was enough to renew her headache.

XXX

The infirmary doors were shut. Harry paused, listening. There was a steady murmur of many voices from beyond.

None of the screaming from last night.

Just as she was about to take the handle, one door began opening. Harry, without thought, ducked behind it.

Three people emerged. A tall, regal man with pale, nearly white hair, a woman, darkly-beautiful, and dark-haired but for a blond streak, and then the boy from the owlery. Malfoy. Or would it be Malfoys? Those had to be his parents.

The trio strode away, Draco sandwiched between them.

“-straight to bed when we get home,” the woman was saying. “And not a word about brooms until I’ve had you checked over.”

Draco sagged. “Mother, I feel fine. I don’t want to look weak in front of the rest of the house.”

Mister Malfoy, who had one hand on his son’s shoulder, made a reproving noise. “Don’t fuss, Draco. Behave for your mother and I’ll see about making a pensieve memory of the governors’ meeting.”

“Really?!” Draco shot a wide-eyed glance at his father. “You think you’ll get Dumbledore sacked?”

The two exchanged a glance, and Mister Malfoy seemed about to answer, only for Miss Malfoy to clear her throat loudly.

“You’re over-exciting him, Lucius.”

Any more conversation was lost as the group turned a corner and went out of sight. Harry took the opportunity to peek around the infirmary door, then slip in herself.

The hospital wing was surreal in daylight. The expanded space for the hundreds of beds a bit fuzzy around the edges, and the floor crowded with dozens of adults, all knotted around various beds. The families of her classmates, mostly, though she spotted a handful of the green-clad St. Mungo’s doctors scattered through the lot.

Harry, head down, stuffed Nagini in her pocket, and hissed at Blackscale, who slithered into the front of her robes.

She moved down the rows.

Who exactly she was looking for, she was still a little unsure. She… she had friends, sort of. And peers, in the other first-year girls. Maybe she just needed to know everyone was safe, that the Hogwarts she’d been growing to love hadn’t been torn irreparably apart. Even Draco, who’d she’d known for all of an hour, had lessened a weight on her back when she saw him walking out.

The bed she’d taken last night was occupied by someone else now, a dark-skinned, older boy speaking rapidly to a tangle of relatives in a rhythmic, sliding language that she didn’t recognize.

Down the line.

Most of the students seemed to be awake, and few bore signs of overt harm. A girl a half-dozen beds down had green-stained bandages wrapped round her mouth like a gag, and another girl a bit further than that levitated an inch off her blankets, held down with leather straps.

Just as she was beginning to be relieved, a boy heaved over the side of his bed into a bucket, retching red-black slime. The noise was enough to make her gag, and Harry had to rush to get by the adults streaming to his side.

She was just swallowing down her own bile when she saw him.

Pale, round-faced, hair mussed from sleep.

Neville smiled crookedly at her. “’lo, Harry.”

XXX

Snape had said something about a poisoning. But it was another thing altogether to hear it in Neville’s halting voice. The stuff of nightmares.

The Halloween Feast. Everyone talking, eating. Fred and George Weasley crowing about some gag they’d just pulled on another Gryffindor. And then someone had thrown up. Then a nosebleed. Coughing. Choking. Someone’s skin blistering. Everyone starting to scream.

Neville had stopped talking for a moment there, gulping wetly until Harry handed him a glass of water from the bedside table.

“And then the lights went out,” he whispered.

Harry nodded mutely. She’d seen that. And then Snape had come.

“I didn’t see you there,” he added. “Were you- did you get out alright?”

_-look at me, you stupid girl-_

Saying something would mean reliving it. She was already doing that well enough on her own. And Neville had quite enough to be getting on with.

“I wasn’t at the feast. Wasn’t hungry.”

It was an easy lie to tell.

XXX

They had talked a bit more after that, but Harry couldn’t quite find her words, and Neville was tired, full of enough potions that his eyes were drifting out of focus.

“I’ll bring you that snake-vine,” she promised him. “To help you feel better.”

Neville smiled, eyelids starting to droop. “Thanks. Maybe...” He yawned cavernously. “Maybe you can meet my gran when she gets here. She’s… she’s probably getting the governors together.”

“Maybe.” And before she could stop herself, she reached out, tentatively, the motion stuttering, and squeezed his shoulder.

XXX

It was some time after that before she ran into anyone else she knew. Passing dozens of beds, each a scene of its own grief and worry, nearly all ringed with family, was coring her out, little by little.

Seeing Ron, one arm bound in a cast, had her almost breaking into a run, only to falter when she realized he had the largest group yet around him, a small army of red-heads, all of them within arm’s reach of Ron like a protective circle.

She left them to their privacy.

XXX

Padma, silent and watchful, raw-eyed at her sister’s bedside, her attention fixed on Parvati, the book in her lap forgotten.

XXX

Fawcett, brow damp with fever sweat. Sleeping. Harry left her undisturbed, stomach twisting at the sight.

XXX

Isobel, a shock of rainbow hair still lingering even a day after their sleepover. She was awake, clutching hands with her mother. Her father and older sister sat on opposite sides of the bed and talked to her in low voices.

XXX

Su Li.

Wan and awake, a bandage over one eye.

Her bedside was empty.

“Harry?” Su sat up, wincing as she did so, exposing more gauze around her forearms. “You’re okay!”

Harry returned the other girl’s smile. “I’m just fine. Are you-” Of course she wasn’t okay. “-safe?”

Su lifted a bandaged hand, practically mummified with the amount of wrapping. “Better than I was. Healer Richmond was- he was here a minute ago, but he said I should be fine. No scarring or anything.”

“That’s great.”

“I dunno.” The other girl shrugged. “Thought a coupla scars might be cool looking.”

Her own scar itched, hidden beneath bangs and bandanna. Harry couldn’t quite manage an answer after that. Instead, she glanced around, checking for Richmond.

“You ah… shouldn’t bother,” Su said. Her voice had flattened, any vibrancy departing. “My family aren’t here. Muggleborn, and all that. Dunno if they even told them, but there’s no way they’d be able to come up even if they knew.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “That’s dreadful.”

“Yeah. Didn’t really think about it much till now, but there’s not a whole lot my parents _can_ do, you know?” Su grimaced. “Sorry to be so down. It’s stupid, but- maybe it’d be easier to be an orphan. I-” She stiffened in bed, features suddenly a mask of horror. “I didn’t mean that. What a god-awful thing to say, Harry. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I know what you mean.”

And the weird thing was, it really _was_ fine. Because Su was right. Better to have never had something than to have had and lost.

They both looked awkwardly around for a moment, the tension broken slightly, but the flow of conversation also jarred to a halt.

“So...” Su scratched at one of her bandages. “You think I could make a break for it? All these sick people are driving me spare.”

“I could be the distraction?”

XXX

They managed to talk for a while after that. Most of the conversation had been on similar ground as with Neville. Talking about the feast. What had happened. What Su had been doing, (“Started blistering all over, and then I kinda puked in Marietta Edgecombe’s lap.”), and where Harry had been.

She’d lied again, and thought nothing of it. When the other person in a conversation had three-fourths of their body covered in gauze, she was allowed to sugar-coat things.

They were just speculating on whether it was a prank gone wrong when a St. Mungo’s witch bustled over. Su needed to have her bandages changed every two hours, and, judging by her walk-to-the-gallows expression, it was exactly as fun as it sounded.

Harry bid her farewell, curtains were drawn around the bed, and she departed. A tall boy sitting in a bed waved as she walked past, and Harry waved back absently, but didn’t recognize him. He didn’t do anything else but stare at her, so she kept walking.

Ten steps later, and she’d forgotten him entirely as all the anxiety she’d been suppressing resurfaced at once.

Time to meet the headmaster.

XXX

She found herself talking to Blackscale on the walk over. Not really saying anything, just sort of letting her thoughts flow out of her as they came. Blackscale, for his part, mostly nodded along as she poured out an endless list of worries.

Expulsion could still happen somehow, knowing her luck. Detention. Public shaming. What if they told the Dursleys? Did Hogwarts do suspensions? ...did they have caning? Or worse. What kind of punishments could one mete out with magic?

One hand found Nagini, holding the tiny serpent protectively. The faint, rapid patter of the snake’s heart against her fingertips helped calm her, just a little.

A gargoyle on the second floor. The destination was deep in the castle. She sensed vaguely, like a bird finding north, that this was near the heart of Hogwarts. And the magic did seem to be converging here, not as clearly perceptible as with people, but more like an undercurrent to the vast river that was the school.

XXX

“F-fizzing Whizzbee.”

XXX

A revolving staircase sent her up and up and up. As she rose, she found her palms sweating, her grip on Blackscale more like a lifeline.

The stairway came to a halt. A door ahead, knocker shaped like a griffin’s head.

She tapped it. Click. Clack. Clack. Waited, hand outstretched.

The door creaked open.

XXX

The office beyond was more keenly a magician’s atelier than any of the other offices she’d seen so far. Whirring, clicking devices made of silver thrummed along on the shelves, row upon row of magical portraits of slumbering witches and wizards ringed the walls, all of it loomed over by an enormous clockwork pendulum on a landing above.

The headmaster himself, though, was nowhere to be seen.

Harry padded in, head swiveling, uncomfortably reminded of her entrance to Quirrel’s chambers earlier. A cuckoo clock hanging above one of the shelves read precisely 11 o’clock, so it wasn’t like she was early or late.

Careful, cautious steps carried her further in. She half-expected for Dumbledore to be lurking behind a shelf, trying to make a dramatic entrance, though _why_ that would be, she wasn’t sure. The office was empty, though not silent. The devices added a quiet rhythm to the background, and several of the sleeping portraits were snoring or breathing loudly.

When, after staring around wildly for several minutes, Dumbledore failed to materialize, Harry loosened. Perhaps he was simply busy or he’d forgotten. Certainly he had more important things to do than meet her.

...at least there was no shortage of things to look at. Dumbledore had even more books than Quirrel, though the room smelled not of old parchment or paper, but a hint of peppermint. She walked, hands folded behind her back, looking, as Aunt Petunia had always insisted, “with her eyes, not her hands.”

Much like Quirrel, most of the books were ancient looking, all worn leather and iron bindings, the titles written in elaborate runes. But unlike Quirrel, there were outliers. A copy of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ sat in between two potions manuals, and a dog-eared edition of something called _The_ _City and the Pillar_ rubbed shoulders with two fat numerology tomes.

There were more, now that she looked, picking out the smaller spines, brighter colors at a glance. Muggle books.

Curious, she moved about the office more readily, taking in the vast collection of books. Books on every type of magic, shelved with no particular order she could recognize, but always interspersed, so just as her eye was growing used to grimoires, something mundane popped up. A gardening guide for the English countryside. A book of poetry. Knitting patterns.

It was… it was like going to a library and instead getting a cross-section of the headmaster’s interests. If she wasn’t in trouble, she’d be very tempted to ask him about his collection. It-

A rustle.

Harry jerked around, heart suddenly dropping then rebounding sharply.

A creature- a bird, sitting atop a perch beside the door, looked back at her. It had remained motionless until now, and she hadn’t noticed it.

Perhaps the size of a swan, it was brilliant red, plumage gradating from crimson to orange to bronze, a tail as long as peacock’s hanging below its perch.

It was magical. She could feel it, like it had been hiding itself until now. A ball of sun and flame. Gentle spring morning now, but it could burn like summer if it had to. The inky eyes staring from above its golden beak were intelligent, far more than the cool gaze of a normal raptor. Like a step above even the magical birds used to carry the post.

“Hello,” Harry said. After a moment of hesitation, she bowed her head to the bird.

The bird tilted its head, then nodded back at her.

“I- uhm, was supposed to see the Headmaster. Is it okay that I’m here?”

Another nod.

“Oh. Okay then.” She fidgeted in place. The bird was too smart to be a mere pet, and after glancing through his shelves, she was certain such a thing wasn’t to Dumbledore’s tastes anyway. Maybe it was a… what was the word Quirrel had used?

“Are you the Headmaster’s familiar?”

The bird turned its head fully to one side, crested skull in profile. She could see herself reflected in its eye. And then it nodded.

Part of her was curious as to what it would be like to reach out to it, to let her magic touch the bird’s, just like she’d reached out to Malfoy’s bird the day before. But that was also a patently stupid idea. This bird was so blatantly supernatural and intelligent, it would be like legilimizing a person.

Oh… she should probably apologize to Malfoy’s owl. Also, it was clearly aligned with fire in some way, and sticking her magic into that was probably as good an idea as poking her hand into a furnace.

Something as bright and wonderful as this creature didn’t need her tainted hands on it anyway.

The bird chirped at her, turning its head to look at her with the other eye. Examining? Scolding? There were limits to bird body language.

“Um… I’m Harry, by the way.” She fidgeted on the spot for a bit, not really certain of what to talk about with the bird. A glance around. “Does- does the Headmaster read any of his books to you? I do that with Fluffy. He’s the uh- cerberus that lives upstairs. Do you know him?”

Nod. Then the bird shifted on its perch and jabbed at a book on the nearest shelf with its beak. Harry leaned in to read the spine. E. Nesbit’s _The Phoenix and the Carpet._

Stared. A double-take at the bird.

“You’re a phoenix?” Another glance back and forth. “Isn’t that a bit on the nose for your favorite book?”

The bird- the _phoenix_ , gave a short, indignant squawk, and fluffed its plumage.

“Sorry. I’m sure it’s very… insightful.”

From behind her, there was a quiet laugh, and then someone spoke. “You’ll have to forgive Fawkes. He is quite defensive when it comes to literature.”

Harry yelped and spun on her heel, nearly toppling into the phoenix’s perch.

Headmaster Dumbledore stood beside his desk, one hand resting atop it.

He smiled at her, not unkindly. “Good morning, Harry.”

XXX

Her heart had jumped into her throat when Dumbledore surprised her, and it hadn’t come down. Didn’t feel like it would, judging by the rapid, frantic beat it was currently setting.

“I must confess,” he said, “that our meeting slipped my mind. I was in a hurry and thought to save time by apparating into my office.”

He said that, but he could very well have been there the whole time. Watching. Trying to see what she would do. Aunt Petunia had pulled that one a few times.

“May I offer you anything? Tea? A strawberry drop?”

Harry blinked, still off-guard. “I- no thank you, sir.”

His lips quirked. “A shame. I switched brands after Professor McGonagall informed me my lemon drops were universally loathed, and I’m quite fond of them.” He popped a red candy in his mouth. “Please, take a seat.” He motioned to a chair before his desk, taking his own seat in turn.

Twice in one day that a teacher had asked her that. And her nerves here put her time with Quirrel to shame.

She sat. This much was familiar. A straight-backed chair, lightly padded, dead center before a teacher’s desk.

She had seen the headmaster before, but never up-close. And meeting him face to face was… an experience. Not just because he was dressed in brilliant purple and vermilion robes, and had a band of brass holding his beard in check. But all of it. Him. The jovial smile. His magic, a sedate flow of molten gold.

That last was the strangest. Because much like the phoenix, she had not been able to sense him until she sat. Could he hide his presence somehow? Was that like how Quirrel could shift what magic was at the fore?

“How are you feeling?”

She looked up. Dumbledore was watching her over his semi-circular glasses. Not with the same intensity she’d gotten from Quirrel, but his focus, his attention was unmistakably on her.

“A bit tired.” She was tired of this day. As much as she wanted to meet up with Quirrel again, her thoughts were drifting more to the bottle of dreamless sleep she had in her bag. Why couldn’t things just _stop_ for a moment?

But her classmates in the hospital wing certainly had it worse, didn’t they?

“It could be worse,” she added hurriedly.

“I see.” His eyebrows drooped, his face contrite. “Madame Pomfrey mentioned that you left the infirmary last night.”

She stiffened.

“You’re not in trouble, Harry. Considering all that occurred, all that you endured, I can hardly blame you for wanting to be away. She was not terribly pleased with you though, so I would recommend against a repeat performance.”

Harry nodded, trying to keep her face blank. This felt like a situation leading up to a “But.”

Dumbledore sighed. “You are not in trouble,” he repeated, sounding weary. “What happened was not your fault, nor do I believe you to have any involvement in the incident at the feast.”

Some of the pressure around her heart eased.

Harry swallowed. “Did they um- find out who did it?”

He looked at her. There was that careful, weighing expression again. “It is being investigated. All of Hogwart’s staff are involved, as is the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A number of aurors should be arriving… any moment now, actually.”

She nodded, though she wasn’t sure what that meant.

Dumbledore carded fingers through his beard for a moment. “I owe you an apology for last night. I was aware that you visited the third-floor corridor frequently, but I allowed it to continue.” He read her raised eyebrows correctly. “There is nothing wrong with desiring time alone, or having an interest in magical creatures. As long as you weren’t attempting to gain entrance to the trapdoor, there seemed to be little harm in allowing you there.”

Trapdoor? She’d assumed it was just storage or Fluffy’s toilet or something…

“However,” Dumbledore said gently, “I cannot permit you to return. It is forbidden for a reason, and I fear you would only be exposed to more harm, even if only collateral, by remaining.”

Her stomach fell. She wouldn’t get to see Fluffy again?

But it was hardly a surprise now, was it? Stranger if he’d let her keep going, really.

And so Harry shut her eyes and forced herself to nod. “Yes, sir.”

She wanted to hold onto Blackscale. Something to anchor her while she was adrift in unknown territory. But he was beneath her shirt and out of reach.

“Hagrid will see that Fluffy is well cared for. I would assume he was the one who introduced you in the first place?” When she nodded, Dumbledore smiled. “Perhaps we can channel your interest in magical creatures in a more positive direction. Would you be interested in using a free period or two every week to assist Professor Kettleburn with his Care of Magical Creatures classes?”

Harry blinked, and found herself staring at the headmaster.

“...assisting?”

“Don’t tell him I said this, but Professor Kettleburn is getting on in years, and his magical limbs have seen better days. He could use a pair of young hands to help him set up. Why, I remember just last semester when he-” The phoenix squawked from across the room, and Dumbledore broke off with a cough. “I digress. It would only be on your free periods, and possibly during the weekend if he needs you, though you’re under no obligation to do so.”

She bit her lip. Her first impulse was that this was a punishment wrapped up like a gift, and that she wasn’t _actually_ allowed to say no, but it didn’t really feel like that. But better to say yes rather than risk turning Dumbledore against her and souring what seemed like a good mood.

Also… she’d glimpsed a few Care of Magical Creatures lessons from afar, and Hagrid had spoken of them before. They sounded _amazing._

“Yes, sir. I- um, that would be nice, sir.”

“Wonderful!” Dumbledore clapped his hands together. “Silvanus will be overjoyed to have some assistance.”

Harry nodded, shifting on her chair. The other shoe was going to drop now, wasn’t it?

“Now, I know you’re already out and about, but if anything changes, I would like you to go straight to Madame Pomfrey. Even if she is busy, she will make time for an ill student.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. I did have one more request before you leave, though.”

“Sir?”

She could see it coming before he said anything. Dumbledore shut his eyes for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. When he opened them, his brows were knit, and the hand that rose slowly to adjust his glasses was stiff and slow.

The other shoe.

“I ask that you keep the events of Halloween involving yourself and Professor Snape confidential.” Dumbledore paused, his face grim. “He acted… rashly. He was injured and not thinking clearly, and I believe his fear got the better of him. But what he did was not right. The harm he did you, no little matter.”

Her eyes itched. Harry swallowed furiously.

“It is cruel of me to ask you to bear this burden, and I do not ask you to forgive him, but I believe that speaking of it will only harm the both of you more in the long-term.”

Who could she even tell? Just the thought of retelling it made her queasy. Reliving it, again and again, not just in her head, but having to rip it open and _tell_ other people? She’d lied to Su and Neville for a reason.

_Look at me._

There was something in her throat.

_Look at me,_ _Potter._ _Who sent you?_

Her breath hitched, and she shuddered, skin crawling.

The words didn’t come. Would not come.

Dumbledore’s blue eyes had stopped twinkling, the smile-lines around his mouth creased into a grimace. He could see her struggling.

“Harry,” he said, voice soft. “Discretion, not silence. If you need to talk to someone, a trusted adult- myself, Professor Flitwick, Madame Pomfrey, Hagrid. Any of Hogwart’s staff are available to you.”

The burning in her eyes was getting worse. What would Hagrid say if she told him? Or did he already know? Was he going to look at her from now on, and all she’d see was pity in his face?

She managed a spasmodic nod.

Dumbledore did not smile. He nodded back, shoulders bowed. “Thank you. I-” He paused, tilting his head to one side, as though listening. “Ah, but it seems the school governors are here.”

Harry stood up fast enough to scrape her chair’s legs across the stone. Excuses rushed to her lips. _I don’t want to be a bother. Do you need to meet them? Should I leave?_

But she didn’t manage to get any of them out before the headmaster motioned to the door. It swung open, though she felt no magic.

“You may go.”

She nodded, mouthed a thanks, and turned toward the door.

“Harry.”

She froze, but did not turn.

“Please remember what I said. If you need someone to talk to, there are adults who have been where you are. Hogwarts protects its own. What Professor Snape did to you will not happen again.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, barely a whisper.

And then she was moving, hand already digging into her robes for Blackscale, the door closing behind her.

XXX

Down the stairs.

A crowd of men and women at the gargoyle, boiling inside as it stepped aside, nearly trampling Harry in their haste.

She barely noticed them, too wrapped up in her head to pay attention. The potion Quirrel had given her seemed to be wearing down, and her thoughts were beginning to pile up again, cluttering and jumbling.

The day had been too full. The continuation to a night that was already too much to cogitate.

Dumbledore. Quirrel. Snape.

What was she supposed to make of it all?

_It won’t happen again._

She wished she could believe it.

Her feet carried her, and surprised her by turning right at the stairs, not ascending, but crossing the hall to another corridor.

Quirrel.

Occlumency was worth more than any empty promises from Dumbledore.

Were they empty though, or was she just being cynical? She barely knew him.

Barely knew Quirrel.

Had thought she’d known Snape.

It-

Harry pressed a hand to her temple. The headache was coming back too.

Had to get into those potions Quirrel had given her. Maybe there’d be more of that… what had he called it? Invigoration draught?

Her eyes were tired too. Not just sleepless-tired, but sore in a way that gave her terrifying thoughts about Snape’s Legilimency.

_Look at me._

_ A mental attack cause _ _ s _ _ mental injury. _

Then why did everything else  _ hurt  _ so damned much?

XXX

She stumbled through the second floor.

The door was there. Locked, as she had left it.

_ “Nahash.” _

Open. And close. 

XXX

Wand in hand, just in case. Lights extinguished.

Numb, shaking hands groping in her bag for a potion.

The glass of Dreamless Sleep was cool, the liquid inside midnight-blue.

A small label on the outside read ‘One small sip at bedtime.’

She took a mouthful.

Barely enough time to cork the bottle before she dropped like a stone onto Quirrel’s loveseat.

Sleep obliterated her.

XXX

Waking was instantaneous. Slow opening eyes. A fireplace. A strange texture- not her bed. The blanket, also not hers. An unfamiliar ceiling.

Harry sat up, blanket falling away, blinking sleep away.

The faint scent of books and dust brought her back to reality.

Quirrel’s parlour.

She stood, wincing as cold soaked through her socks and-

...had someone taken her shoes off?

She padded out of the parlour, blanket wrapped around her like a cloak, moving with a dreamy sort of stagger. Out of sorts was the best word for it. Waking up in a strange place, wearing a strange skin to go with it, the whole world just a bit sideways feeling.

The windows in Quirrel’s office were dark, the sky outside black. The interior was well-lit, candles brighter than they should be, chasing shadows away.

Quirrel was at his desk, sleeves tied back, bent over an array of small dishes and beakers. He didn’t look up when she entered, but his magic, like a colorless fog around her ankles, was aware and watchful.

It was only when she moved to look over his shoulder that he stopped measuring potions into a dish.

_“_ _How do you feel?”_

She swallowed. Dry mouth. A soreness in her jaw like she’d been clenching her teeth in her sleep. But her headache was barely a twinge around the backs of her eyes, her fatigue more spiritual than physical.

_“_ _Better.”_

_“Enough to bond a familiar?”_ Quirrel finally turned from his work, and Harry blinked in surprise, one hand to her throat, when she saw that he had Blackscale and Nagini sitting on his desktop.

What had he said about it? They would make it harder to legilimize her?

_“_ _I think so.”_

He smiled. _“Good. Take a seat. Socks and robes off.”_

_“What?”_ Harry hesitated, caught off-guard by the oddness of it.

Quirrel pointed to one of the beakers. _“I’m going to be drawing runes on your skin. So unless you’d like to do it like the Sumerians did, and write it on stones that you swallow...”_ He cast an unimpressed look at her. _“They are not small stones, and they are sharp. The Sumerians were great believers in pain.”_

Harry started unbuttoning her robes.

XXX

What followed proceeded with almost dizzy rapidity.

Harry removed her outer robes, rolled up her sleeves, and then put her hair up, using the bandanna to tie it back. She dipped her hands in a small basin of clear, cold water, then at Quirrel’s instructions, washed her face and forearms.

She sat. He knelt.

There was a knife in his hand. Small and silver. The edges were dull, but the point was not. Quirrel took her hand in his and pressed the knife tip to the center of her palm.

_“This is going to hurt. The act of sacrifice gives the ritual power.”_

It did sting, but the cut was shallow, and he talked to her the whole time, voice low and steady.

_“_ _C_ _leansing, followed by bloodletting with an athame. We mix the blood with the ink- I’ve already prepared it. If you do this in the future, remember that this isn’t the_ _stuff_ _you write your essays in. It’s an alchemical compound.”_

The ink was pitch black, and even when he tipped her hand over the dish, the mixture neither changed color nor rose. After, Quirrel nodded, and Harry _episkeyed_ her cut closed.

He took one of the paintbrushes, cleansed the tip in the water, and then dipped it in the ink.

_“By taking Nagini as a familiar, you link her life to yours. The bond runs both ways: you gain a resistance to certain types of magic, including legilimency, due to having her mind touching yours. In return, your magic will bleed into her. She will live as long as you do, become larger, smarter, greater than a normal serpent, and she is hardly that to begin with.”_

Harry nodded, but her eyes fell not on Nagini, but on Blackscale, waiting patiently beside the smaller snake on the desk.

She held up a hand. _“Um. Sir.”_

Quirrel stopped, paintbrush hovering over her hand. _“Yes?”_

_“Would we be able to include Blackscale as a familiar? I- um, don’t want him to die either.”_

They both looked at Blackscale. The adder lifted his head.

His tongue flickered.

_“_ _I am not interested.”_

Harry jerked forward in her chair. _“What? Why?!”_

_“I am not part of the endless Ouroboros. If I join with you, I will be. Instead, I will shed my skins until they are gone, and when I shed my body, I will rejoin the gods.”_

She stared, uncomprehending. Beside her, Quirrel was curling his lip.

_“_ _Idiot snake,”_ he said. _“What would you know of eternity?”_

Blackscale shuffled his coils, resettling on the desktop. _“It is not for my kind.”_

Harry shook her head. Just when she thought she understood him… _“If you don’t want to, I won’t force it.”_ She turned to Quirrel. _“If he changes his mind, can I bond him later?”_

_“_ _Yes.”_

Blackscale had put his head back down. _“I will not.”_

Quirrel rolled his eyes. _“Shall we begin now?”_

XXX

The first strokes were ticklish, the liquid chilly. The cold stone beneath her bare feet made her shiver at first, but only until Quirrel noticed, muttered something under his breath, and the floor warmed.

They were halfway through the ritual before it really started to sink in. Harry sat motionless as the professor daubed symbols on her skin. He’d begun at her hands, but was steadily working his way up her arms.

“What I’m doing now is drawing the runes that form the body of the spell.” He’d switched back to English; some of the words he was using didn’t have a parselmouth equivalent. “Runes are useful in that they combine intent-based magic with symbol-based. The shape of the symbol shapes the flow of magic, but the intent gives it further latitude.”

The ink was cool, and he was writing with a tiny paintbrush. It was… ticklish, but she was putting all her effort into not sighing with relief, because it was finally sinking in that this was _happening_. She was apprenticed to Quirrel, and he was going to teach her to keep Snape out and survival spells and- _everything._

“If you’ll notice, we’re using mostly the Germanic derived runes for this portion. This one here.” He tapped her wrist, drawing her eye to a rune shaped like… like her scar? “The _sowilo._ Likely the basis of the ritual your mother used to protect you from the Dark Lord. A keen choice on her part.”

Harry stiffened as much as she was able. No one had ever said anything about that night except Hagrid. “Did- did you know my mother, sir?”

He didn’t look up from his painting. “Only in passing.”

XXX

Inked runes marked her from wrist to elbow, and he’d changed places. Odd, root-like spirals on the tops of her feet. A crescent moon at the base of her throat. And then more, slick lines drawn over the skin of her neck, climbing steadily toward her face.

Quirrel was leaning in, eyes narrowed as he focused on his work. She was getting goosebumps that had nothing to do with his magic or the weather, and everything to do with his proximity. He was close, very close. More than anyone she could remember willingly being close to her, and for longer.

Each dexterous stroke and brush had an artist’s precision, and the care he was putting into it was… it meant a lot to her, if that made sense. That he would not only protect her, but that he really was willing to put in the work to teach her.

It was sinking in.

When he lifted the brush to start on her cheeks, Harry had to force away a small smile.

 

XXX

XXX

  
Hoooh boy, this one was a slog. Where the last chapter was a struggle because I needed it to be perfect and just didn't have the muse, this one was a slog because I published 3 chapters of other stuff in the interval, and had other fics I was much more enthusiastic to write, and this is basically a transitional chapter. It needed to happen, and we've got plot hooks for a lot of stuff to come, but it's a very uneven chapter, or it feels uneven to me. It definitely doesn't feel as polished as my usual stuff, but I just want to get it out so I can move on.  
  
Went through a couple different concepts, with Harry's meeting with Dumbledore being the sticking point. I wanted to have something in the style of the rest of the fic- an unorthodox take on a situation, and just couldn't get a Dumbledore and Harry dialogue to work in unusual circumstances, and not with Harry's nerves driving her. The diversion ended up being Dumbledore being far away from her expectations, and the Care of Magical Creatures element.  
  
This almost ended up being an Interlude chapter, running through the POVs of several different characters. It was... basically this, but running through Blackscale in a similar scene to the beginning where he bites her, Quirrel attending the teacher's conference, Harry for the hospital wing, then Dumbledore for the meeting, ending with Quirrelmort and the familiar binding.  
  
This might get rewritten if there's something egregiously wrong I've missed, so sound off if you notice anything.  
  
Next chapter is going to be another time-skipping one in the vein of the timeskip preceding Nagini's hatching, probably running up to Christmas.

 

 


End file.
